Waking Up Married
by NinaSkyLove
Summary: Really, the humiliation couldn't get much worse… could it? But it didn't matter. This guy and all his good looks weren't a part of her plan. So what if he was handsome, or that she had seen hints of the kind of humor she typically appreciated, or that she was, in fact, married to him?
1. Chapter 1

Waking Up Married

Prologue

"We need some ground rules."

"Ground rules?" He didn't like the sound of that. "Such as?" Tightening the belt on her robe, she shifted her weight and squinted at him. "No sex." Forcing himself to laugh instead of swear, he shook his head. "Forget it, Mamori this is a real marriage we're trying on here and sex is a healthy, normal part of it." "Youichi I'm serious–"

"I'm serious, too, "he said following her off the bed and taking her shoulders in his hands. "Not a chance, I'm going to seduce you, Mamori."

"I'll say no," She whispered, her eyes already drifting to his mouth. "Fair warning." His thumb moved to the pale pink line where her bottom lip became skin. "If you do, I'll stop."

"I can resist you." Youichi gave in to the slow grin pushing at his lips. "You can try."

Chapter 1

Forced to listen to one heaving revolt after another reverberate off the polished marble, Youichi Hiruma cursed his conscience. Talk about an inconvenient burden. No matter how his stomach rocked and his head slammed, there was no way he could bolt for the beckoning doorway to freedom at the far wall. Wrenching his own slightly green reflection, he turned off the tap and wrung out a towel. Pushing some empathy into his expression he prepared to face the music.

"hey, gorgeous," he called, crossing over to the pitiful creature half leaning into, half clutching the toilet in front of her. "Feeling any better?" Raccoon eyes peered out from beneath a copper-brown rat's nest as she reached for the damp towel he held in offering. "ichig–"

"Youichi," he corrected drily, torn between amusement and what, by all rights, ought to be the very antithesis of it. "We need a lawyer," she gasped, barely finding the time to look chagrined before the next wave of revolt took her. A lawyer. Not exactly a stellar kickoff to their honeymoon. But then, this wasn't exactly a stellar situation to begin with. Of course, in the less than fifteen minutes since the warm body sprawled beside him had moaned – once, and not in a good way – then lurched from the bed to the bathroom, he hadn't quite put all the soggy pieces of the night before together. But based on the shocking evidence at hand, or in this case, finger…and the band of glinting diamonds encircling hers, this was the worst-case scenario come to life.

Cutting loose gone bad. Consequences in action. Yeah, in all likelihood, this was going to be a major hassle to clean up. So a lawyer sounded like an ideal place to start, once the upchuck portion of the morning concluded that is. "One thing at a time, babe. Let's get through this, and we'll worry about the rest later." Whatever her chocked response was, he got the gist it was an agreement of some sort.

Damn, what a disaster…

Rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, Youichi gave his blanching bride a not-so-subtle-once-over. Twelve hours ago she'd been 'authentic' with her sharp wit and gently rough edges. Her too wide smile, bright, beautiful blue eyes and sexy laugh. Now, with her hair threatening to dip into god only knew, she just looked… well… rough. No gentle about it. Still, even as he stared at the hot mess she was at the moment, fragments of who she'd been last night flashed before his mind's eye. The girl-next-door giving in to a bit of wild. The perfect fit for his bad-boy attitude. He'd thought she looked like a few hours of how the fuck had she ended up flipping over his shoulder, giggling about how crazy he was, as he toted her into one of those all-night chapels Las Vegas was so famous for?

Mamori turned, giving him a full frontal view of the too tight, hot pink T-shirt she had been wearing when he stumbled to the bathroom after her. Stamped big, bold and black across her bust were the words: _GOT SPERM?_

Oh, right. That was how.

_Fuck. _

_What had she been thinking?!_

Mamori peered up at the darkening scowl across Ichigo's, wait, no, Youichi's face and then down at what was probably a ten carat diamond adorning the fourth finger if her left hand… and the proceeded to once again pay homage to the porcelain god. She'd had sex. With a stranger. Someone she only retained only the foggiest memories of meeting. And then…. She had apparently _married_ him!

"Or… maybe," Mamori thought. "By some miracle they had gone the traditional route and waited until after the wedding. So it would be _special_.

_Ugh!_

_So incredibly special_ the only piece of the entire consummation she could even remember was the soft rub of fabric between her thighs, the heady weight of him above her and her intense frustration in getting her toe caught in his belt loop while trying to wrestle his tie loose. And now, here she was on her knees, hurling her lungs out while this man, essentially a stranger, bore witness to one of the most intimate unpleasantnesses a person could endure. She wished he'd left when she'd told him to. But he'd stayed to make sure she was okay… like the good husband he was.

It was almost enough to make her laugh, only it really wasn't funny and her body was otherwise engaged. "There can't be much left" came the gruff voice from behind her. As the spasms subsided, she hazarded a glance at the man she married. Beyond the contemplative expression, those dark eye didn't offer up much to read. "There isn't…" she groaned. "I've been on empty for a few rounds already. This… this is just my stomach making a very just point… I think."

"Hmmm. Really driving it home, I see." The touch of dry humor pulled her focus back to him again. To the details she had missed while her stomach was trying to turn itself inside out. He was tall. And not because of her almost in-line-with-the-floor-level perspective. He was tall enough that as he leaned on the doorframe, his free hand hung in a loose grip from the top of the frame mere inches from his head. And he was built in a powerful, lean kind of way where the muscles across his chest, abdomen, shoulders and arms were well defined but without the extreme bulk of serious bodybuilders. This guy just looked really fit. And as if that wasn't bad enough, he was devilishly handsome too, with a blade straight nose, high cheekbones and an assortment of such interesting features so appealing she suddenly wondered how long she'd been staring.

At least from her little hangout on the floor, by the toilet, where she had been throwing up.

_Ugh!_

Really, the humiliation couldn't get much worse… could it? But it didn't matter. This guy and all his good looks weren't a part of her plan. So what if he was handsome, or that she had seen hints of the kind of humor she typically appreciated, or that she was, in fact, married to him? She had enough close calls in her life with men she'd actually _known, _and she was through with the whole business.

Still, pride had her stumbling to her feet on limbs that were clumsy and tight from the combination of dehydration and kneeling too long. Limbs that weren't quite working. Suddenly she was going right back down until two strong hands gripped her beneath her arms, holding her steady as she regained her footing. The contact was awkward. Her, trying to hold herself up; him trying to support her without getting too close.

See awkward…

"Thank you."

"Not a problem." And then after a pause, "just one of the benefits of having a husband around, I guess." She nodded, exhausted, overwhelmed, but somehow more grateful than words could express for that bit of superficial exchange. As much as they needed to, she wasn't ready to talk about what happened last night. About how they were going to sort it out this morning and over the next however long it took to get an annulment processed. Not until she'd – at the very least – gotten a shower, toothbrushing, flossing and several intensive minutes with the most medicine mouthwash she could get her hands on. Glancing down, she added a change of clothes to her list. And then, committed to doing her part, she replied in kind, "Knew there was a reason I'd picked one up."

The low answering chuckle had her daring another look over her shoulder. It was the smile that did it. That brought the melee of vodka-soaked images into order enough for her to see at least a glimpse of the man from the night before rather than the stranger she had woken up next to this morning. _Oh, God._ What had she gotten herself into?! And how fast could she get herself out of it?


	2. Chapter 2

OK, so obviously this is an AU so the characters are bound to be OOC. So all I ask is that you bear with me if your interested in this story.

Chapter 2

Twelve hours earlier…

"Oh, come on, screw the sperm bank." Julie sighed with a dismissive flutter of her candy apple acrylics. "Where's the fun in that?" Mamori Anezaki tipped her glass, swallowing the last decadent drops of white chocolate martini, then slumped deeper into the plush cushions of the lounge chair she'd taken up residence in some forty minutes before. Contemplating another drink, she did her best to ignore the incessant bickering her fellow bridesmaids had perfected through a lifetime of practice.

That it was her womb they were battling over was of as little consequence as the fact that Mamori already had a plan and she was sticking to it. "Um… the fun comes nine months later," Wakana snipped back. "All tiny and new, wearing one of those little nursery beanies… and without any of the communicable side effects on offer with _your_ plan…" Julie's plan, as far as Mamori could gather, was centered on the T-shirt – hot off the silk screen and sporting the slogan GOT SPERM? – folded neatly on the cocktail table between them. "I mean, seriously, who's to say this total, random stranger enticed by your thirteen dollar custom call for baby batter isn't attempting to walk off the early stages of Ebola or worse? Casual, unprotected sex is stupid. And you're trying to talk Mamori into it. For god sake, why don't you pick up a knife and stab her?!" turning the glass upside down, Mamori watched as a single drop of martini goodness slid to the rim. Catching it with her tongue, she hoped the cocktail waitress would take her action as the desperate plea that it was and bring her another. Fast.

"You're such a prude. It's pathetic."

_Eesh…_

"_What I am _is too much of a lady to say _what you are._"

"Girls, please," Mamori interjected before the volley of barbs got any more intense. "I totally appreciate you two looking out for me this way." Okay, so she was stretching the truth, but somehow her tongue let her get away with it. Honestly, she'd have rather been of such little interest they both got her name wrong all weekend and ignored her through dinner. But courtesy of her mother's propensity to spill secrets, the family grapevine had guaranteed her Vegas arrival for cousin Sena's wedding was met with a tempest of polarizing opinion regarding her decision to undergo artificial insemination in two months. "Julie, I love, really love, this T-shirt. But the only place it's going is into my scrapbook. And Wakana, thank you for the support but –"

Wakana's hand came up, cutting her off. "I don't, really. Support what you've decided to do. You ought to wait to find a husband like the rest of us." Images of Bud and the two years they'd dated flashed through her mind, threatening to suck her into a vortex of churning emotions she wouldn't allow herself to surrender to. Shame, embarrassment, anger and helpless frustration.

"_Mamori, I swear I didn't even realize it myself. Not until right that minute… and suddenly I knew. I'd never stopped loving her." _She wasn't going there again, wasn't going to waste another precious second on the man who left for a conference talking about starting a family with her and then come home married to someone else… yeah…

From that she reined herself in. she didn't need Bud. She didn't need any man to have the child(ren) she'd always wanted – well, at least not for more than five minutes of quality time with a plastic cup.

Wakana sighed, a faraway look settling over her features. "Wait for your Prince Charming and you'll have someone to share your special moment in the nursery, making it all the sweeter."

"Well, actually," Mamori started, but Wakana wasn't finished. "You're what's wrong with our society. I mean, life isn't about getting everything you want the instant you want it. Some things are worth waiting for. That said, in a tossup between bedding down with the next patient zero or hitting the drive-thru for prescreened sperm… I'll back the bank." Mamori felt the telling wash of heat rush through her cheeks, but thinking about Sena and what kind of wedding he and Suzuna might have if all three of Suzuna's bridesmaids were at each other's throats, she tamped it down. "Okay. Well thank you. For your thoughts on the situation." Julie's less-than-delicate snort sounded from beside her, and Mamori craned her neck to see if their waitress was around.

Only rather than the leggy sever with the no-nonsense attitude, she found her attention snared by the man walking past their table. Hand raised in casual greeting, dark blue-green eyes fixed on someone across the room, he was tall, dark and handsome in the most non-traditional sense. Broad and tapered, chiseled and cut. All clean lines and good looks. The balance of him so flawless, it was almost unnatural. If it hadn't been for his mouth, that is. This guy definitely had one wicked smile (if you could call it that, more smirk) going on. Yet, something about the ease of it suggested a near permanence on his face, while its stunted progress implied– well, maybe that was part of the allure because it could really imply anything.

That smile was the kind women got lost in trying to reveal its mysteries. Only, Mamori was through trying to read signs and figure guys out. Which was why she pried her eyes away from the table where this one had settled in with a friend or associate or whomever, and forced herself to refocus on Julie and Wakana… who were totally focused on her. She gulped.

In sync, as if they had practiced, they leaned forward, resting on their elbows. "Window shopping the gene pool, Mamori?" Julie asked with a knowing, almost smug smirk as one pencil thin brow raised high. "See something you like?" Wakana's eyes narrowed. "His suit is too perfectly cut to be anything but made-to-measure. The suit, the watch, the links. This guy has quality catch written all over him. Mamori, quick, cross your legs higher and give up some thigh. Julie, get his attention." Mamori's lips parted to protest, but Julie was a woman of action. "Wow, Mamori, I knew you were a gymnast, but I didn't think anyone's leg could do that!"

Julie's face took on an expression of benevolence and she crossed her arms, leaning back in her seat. "You're welcome." Needles of tension prickled up and down her back as she struggled for her next breath. Eyes fixed on the tabletop in front of her, Mamori held up her empty martini glass and prayed to the cocktail gods for a refill. When she thought she could manage more than a squeak, she cleared her throat and replied to anyone within listening distance, "I'm not a gymnast." At which point Julie Wakana burst out laughing.

"It may not seem like it now, but you're better off without her…" Youichi Hiruma shifted irritably in his chair, swirling the amber and ice of his scotch as he listened to Gen Takekura, a.k.a Musashi, forfeit his status as one of the guys. "Noted." And not exactly a news flash.

"You and Caro were together for almost a year. It's okay to be hurt." _Hurt? _Youichi's eyes started to twitch. This wasn't guy talk. It wasn't the promised blowing off steam with which he had been lured to sin city.

_This... was _not_ fucking okay._

"… a blow to the ego, and for someone with an ego like yours…" Growling into his glass, he muttered, "We need to get your testosterone levels checked."

"Whatever," Musashi answered, unfazed. He was as secure with his emotional 'awareness' as he was with his position as Youichi's oldest and best friend. "All I'm saying is you were ready to marry Caro two weeks ago. I don't believe you're as indifferent as you make out to be."

"Yeah, but you never want to believe the truth about me," Youichi replied with an unrepentant grin. With a sigh. "I'm fine fuckin' old man. Caro was just a girl, and hearing what she had to fuckin' say…. Look it just made me more relieved than anything else." The answering grunt suggested Musashi wasn't buying it.

_Whatever…_Youichi scoffed, mentally rolling his eyes. To an extent the guy was right… just not in the way he thought. Youichi didn't do love. All too well he understood the potential of its destructive power. He knew the distance of its reach, had experienced the devastation of its ripple effect. No, Youichi Hiruma did not do love. And he had never had that expectation with Caro. What he'd wanted was a family, the kind he'd only ever seen from the outside looking in, but coveted just the same. The kind his father hadn't wanted some bastard son to contaminate, and his mother had been to deep in her own grief to sustain. So he was determined to build on his own.

There were a lot of things he'd done without as a kid. Things that he made it his purpose to secure as an adult. Money, respect, his own home and the thriving business he ran with an iron fist that garnered them all. But a family…? For that, he needed a partner. One he had thought he found in Caro. She fit the bill, fundraiser ready with the right name, education and background. Coolly composed and devoid of the emotional neediness he spent his adult life actively avoiding. Or so he'd thought, right up to that last day when she'd folded her napkin at the side of her plate and evenly explained she wanted a marriage based on more than what they had. She hadn't expected to, but there it was. Fair enough. He gave her credit for having the good sense to recognize she wanted something she wouldn't find in him. And most important, _before_ the vows were exchanged.

So, heartbroken? No.

Disappointed? Sure.

Relieved? Hell yeah.

"…I think you're lonely. Sad…" throwing back the rest of his single malt, Youichi relished the burn down his throat and spread of heat through his belly. If he weighed in fifty pounds lighter, it might have been enough to fuzz out the discomfort of this conversation.

But there was always the next one.

"…remember, there are other fish in the sea–"

"_Come on_, what's next–hot flashes?" holding up his empty glass, he scanned the crowd for the cocktail server.

"– Hell, apparently the one over there is a gymnast." Youichi quirked a brow, angling his head for a better look. "Which one?" Musashi gave a faint smirk. "Just making sure you were listening. Care about you, man." Though he would never figure out why, Youichi knew. That caring had been the single constant in his life from the time he'd been ripped out of poverty and drop-kicked into the East Coast's most exclusive boarding school at thirteen. He'd been the illegitimate kid with a chip on his shoulder, a jagged crack through the center of his soul and a grudge against the name he couldn't escape. And Musashi had been the unlucky bastard saddled with him as a roommate. Youichi hadn't given him any reason to cut him a break, but for some reason, Musashi did anyway. Which was why, for as much as he gave his friend a hard time about being an 'in touch' guy, he also gave him the truth. "Yeah, you to… Now, where's the gymnast?"

Another two rounds and some forty minutes later, Youichi leaned back in his chair watching as Musashi reasserted his status as a testosterone driven male by smoothly intercepting the cocktail girl he'd been eyeing for the better part of an hour. Youichi didn't even want to think about the rap this guy had laid on her to get those lashes batting and her tray cast aside so fast, but whatever it was, it must have been phenomenal.

Musashi shot him a salute, and the deal was sealed. Reaching into his breast pocket, Youichi pulled out his wallet, tossed a few bills onto the table and then set his empty glass atop the stack. The night stretched out before him with all its infinite exhausting possibilities. He could hit the blackjack tables, grab a bite, pick up some company. Or not. With this apathetic indifference he had– "Excuse me." Glancing up, he expected another waitress ready to clear, but instead it was the copper-brunette in the dark crimson dress from the other table. The _gymnast, _who most definitely wasn't a gymnast if her height and soft S-like lines of a figure draped in one of those clingy wrap numbers were any indication. _Very nice. _"Hello. What can I do for you?"

Her smile spread wide as her big blue eyes held his. "This is going to sound like a line. A really, really bad one. But you've got to believe me when I say it's not." The corner of his mouth twitched as he readied himself for what was inevitably _the rest of the line._ Deciding to entertain this woman and amuse himself, he gave her a smirk. Taking that as her go ahead. "Okay, you've got the disclaimer out of the way. Go for it."

She nodded, releasing a deep breath. "I noticed you were about to leave. And I'd be more grateful than you could imagine if you wouldn't mind walking out with me. So it looks like we're leaving _together." _Right. "Just _looks _like we're leaving together?" Again her wide smile flashed, and Youichi saw shades of girl-next-door. Not usually his type, but for whatever reason, there was something about the look of this one… "Yes. My… friends saw me notice you earlier and… well… and you don't even want to know what it's been like since. I told them I'd come over and see if you were interested because I want them off my back. But… I can tell from looking at you, that I'm not the kind of woman you'd be into… which is actually the reason I came over. You have no idea how much I would love to get out of here without them following me for the rest of the night."

So she'd checked him out, huh? Well, then he could give his own eyes the go ahead. Giving a slow sweep of her length, lingering on her lips and eyes. Very, very nice. Even with her scolding finger wagging at him on the return trip. "None of that. You're handsome, but I'm honestly working an escape strategy here."

He shifted, the smile he hadn't quite let loose earlier breaking free with the realization she was serious. Glancing past her, he noted her friends blatantly staring back.

"Subtle."

She shrugged delicately. "So far as I can tell, subtle isn't really their thing." He raised a brow. "_So far as you can tell? _What kind of friends are these?"

"The kind on loan until our bridesmaids' obligations have been fulfilled, sometime before dawn on Sunday. I hope. They're the brides' best friends from high school, or something like that." At his questioning brow she elaborated. "My cousin is the groom."

"Ah. And they've taken an interest in your love life because…?" her nose wrinkled up as she scanned the ceiling. "Any chance you might just walk me out of here?" Youichi eased back into his chair, pulling out the seat Musashi had vacated with his foot. "Not if you want it to look convincing. I'll walk you out of here in…. ten minutes." The skeptical look said she'd figured out he was thinking about more than just the next ten minutes.

As different as she was from the women he normally pursued, she looked as if she really might be exactly the kind of fun this night called for. The kind who didn't generally hook up with strangers. The corruptible kind, he thought, feeling less apathetic by the second. "Ten minutes. We'll talk. Flirt. You can touch my arm once or twice to really sell it. Maybe I'll tuck some wayward strand of hair behind your ear. Your voyeuristic friends will gobble it up. Then I'll lean close to your ear and suggest we get out of here. Maybe do it in a way that has you blushing all the way to your roots. You'll get flustered and shy, but let me take your hand anyway. And we'll go."

The look on her face was priceless. As though he'd gotten to her with this bit of scripted tripe.

"That's… umm…" she swallowed, her gaze darting around landing on his mouth and lingering briefly before snapping back to his eyes. "More of an investment than I was really asking for."

"The better for you."

"Yeah, but what's in it for you?"

Youichi flashed a wolfish smile. "Ten minutes to convince you to give me twenty. We'll see where it goes from there." The slight shake of her head had his focus honing and his analytical skills kicking in. Damn, he had been thinking how sultry, but now here she was making him work for her too? It didn't get better "I should probably go. I'm not a casual-encounter kind of girl. And even if you were looking for something more, I still wouldn't be interested." Something about the way she said it had his curiosity peeked. "Oh, yeah–how come?"

Her hand lifted in a sort of dismissive flutter, which stopped almost before it began. Then meeting his eyes, she said, "Sorry, it's a little too personal for a _fake first non-date._" Youichi grinned, shrugging one shoulder. "So why not make it a _not quite so fake-first-non-date. _Or maybe a _fake first date_, though if we're already faking it, we ought to go for a second or third date. You, know when all the good shit starts." She tried, a little unsuccessfully, to hide a small smile before giving way to a laugh that didn't exactly go along with her girl-next-door image. This laugh had him doing a second take. Her eyes were half closed, her lips parted for that low rolling sound of seductive abandon, he was the one left staring. Only for a second, of course. Before he shifted back into gear. "Seriously, I'd like to know."

He could see it in her eyes, in the tilt of her head and the way her body had already started to turn away. In her mind, the decision was made, and mentally, she was halfway to the door. Too bad.

But regardless, he didn't want to leave her high and dry after she had mustered the courage to come over. "I'll walk you out," he said, but she shook her head and smiled. "Thanks, but I'll be fine."

"Fair enough. I'm Youichi, by the way." He extended his hand, feeling like an ass offering to shake goodbye after the exchange they shared, but for some reason wanting to test the contact anyway. "Mamori." She reached across the table and met his hand with her smaller one – and a flash of neon pink arced through the air, coming to land in his lap. The hand in his clenched as he looked down and read the block lettering.

"What the fu–?"

Peals of laughter rang from the table where Mamori had been sitting. The bridesmaids she was trying to escape. Or so she said. His hand tightened around hers as, leveling her with a stare, he pulled her forward and then down into the chair. "Sit. Now I _need_ to know." Mamori looked into his eyes, a thousand thoughts running through hers before she slumped back in her seat and said, "okay, ichi–"

"Youichi."

She swallowed. "Youichi. Right. Sorry. So… here it is…"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_Nine hours earlier…._

"I think your subconscious is trying to tell you something." Mamori grinned into her glass, trying stifle a laugh as she took another sip. Sweet martini goodness coated her tongue, making her wonder how she'd gone through life without having ever tried one of these white-chocolate concoctions. They were divine. Oh, wait. The subconscious… "Okay, what?"

"This trip to Vegas. It's your subconscious screaming some deeply repressed need to take a chance. Do something crazy."

They were back to this again. Mamori shot him a knowing look, only to find his unrepentant one on the other end. "_Or_, this trip is about my cousin getting married."

"Denial is a powerful thing."

"Forget it. I told you already. I'm not running off and marrying you, so please stop begging."

Ichigo–shoot, _Youichi, _why couldn't she remember that!

Youichi let out a bark of laughter. They both knew marriage wasn't what he was getting at. Just as they both knew he wasn't actually serious.

He knew what her plans were. Had been truly interested when she laid them out, explaining her choice to pursue artificial insemination via sperm donor. And rather than back away slowly, he decided they both needed a night to cut loose and have some fun. The kind without consequences. The kind that revolved around easy conversation, harmless flirting and more drinks than were a good idea. Knowing it would be the last, and finding a certain comfort in the utter lack of expectation from the man she was with, Mamori agreed.

She had been near breathless with laughter ever since. Milling through the grand casino, stopping at one attraction at a time, caught up in the sort of fun in which she never indulged.

Youichi had been right. This was what she needed. The palm of his hand settled lightly at the small of her back as he guided her towards an outcropping of slots. "I don't know, Mamori. Seems for a decision this big, you want to consider every option before dismissing it out of hand."

"Maybe you're right." Then giving in to the impish grin threatening to break out, she waved vaguely at men around her. "And there are plenty of _options _to consider." Youichi shook his head. "If you're looking for a guy to close the deal, I'd steer clear of those slots," he offered, totally deadpan. "Nothing says _compensation issues _like a man clinging too closely to a twelve inch rod of metal." It took more effort than she would have thought, but Mamori reined in her laughter. Instead she pulled a mock scowl. "Seriously, how long have we known each other– and you think I'd hit the slots?" this time it was Youichi cracking the half smile that seemed his equivalent to a full on belly laugh. "Right, I should have had more faith." She nodded, scanning the floor. "Roulette tables are where all the quality swimmers hang out."

Another wry twist of the lips. "I'm forced to disagree with you. Any guy lingering around a game based solely on luck is delusional. Probably believes in fuckin' Santa and fairies. Doesn't bode well for mental stability. You want the probability of psychosis spiraling through junioretta's double helix?"

Another stifled giggle. "No, definitely not. How could I have been so off base?"

"Sometimes I wonder about you."

She couldn't remember the last time she'd had so much fun. Couldn't remember a guy she had been so instantly at ease with. Of course, that last bit might have had more to do with knowing this wasn't leading anywhere. Which took the pressure off tremendously. She could simply enjoy the attention of this incredibly attractive, slightly disarming man without worrying about… anything.

"Blackjack, then?"

They had made it halfway across the floor when Youichi caught a passing waitress, giving her their order before returning his attention to Mamori. "Also delusional. He thinks he's in control when it's a game of chance. Unless he's counting… and then you have a criminal element to consider."

He decided not to mention that he was quite good at just that.

Playing devil's advocate, she asked, "but wouldn't counting suggest a higher level of intelligence?"

"So you're a single mom, strapped from the cost of the private academy his 'genius' demands. How much time are you going to have for all those trips to visit little buster in juvie?" Mamori let out her best indignant cough. One oh-so-arrogant brow shot high. Sexy and confident. "You're implying that one, my baby will be a delinquent? And two that they would get caught in the first place."

"Not if you play your cards right."

"Fine, fine." She laughed, wiping the tears at the corners of her eyes with the back of her thumbs. "So we've been through the slots, roulette and blackjack. If none of those are right, then what? Off-track betting?"

Youichi drew to a stop, turning to consider her more closely than the question called for. Closely enough she could feel her body respond to the touch of his eyes at every point of contact. His smirk was pure arrogance as he answered, "You want to win the genetic jackpot, then skip the pit stop at Gamblers Anonymous altogether. Obviously your best bet is me."

Mamori laughed, head thrown back, eyes close, and the sound of it hit him right in center of his chest. And when those big blues blinked back at him, her cheeks a rosy red, the hot rush and warm pull of attraction firing through his body nearly knocked the reason right out of him. Fortunately, she didn't seem to notice as she turned to accept her cocktail from the approaching waitress. "In the nick of time. I'll definitely need another drink before I buy into that one." With a jut of his chin, he urged, "By all means, then, bottoms up." Tossing back a swallow of his own, he grinned. "I've got all night." Damn, she had a gorgeous laugh. Even after it left her lips… echoes of it lit her eyes. Those sparkling eyes that were staring up at him like maybe he had the solution for anything. And suddenly, the idea of this strong, fiercely independent woman _needing _something _from him _appealed to him on the most primal level.

"What?" he asked, chalking up the low timber of his voice to a dry throat and remedying the obvious problem with a gulp of scotch. Mamori reached for the lapel of his jacket, her slender fingers curving around the fabric in a move both needy and intimate–a move that did something to him he wasn't quite sure he should like _quite _as much. Pearly white teeth sank into the soft swell of her bottom lip before pulling free and he stopped breathing altogether.

"Mamori."

She sighed. "I'm starving." For a beat he stared down at her. And then those fingers tightened and she gave his lapel a little shake. "_**StarVing**_." A single nod. Food. Yeah, he was pretty hungry too. For something, anyway. So it was time to stop staring down into her pretty sapphire eyes. "Right." Downing the rest of his glass in one go he handed off the empty to a passing server. "Then I'm your man."

_Seven hours earlier…_

He'd thought it couldn't get any better than the laugh. But then he heard the laugh together with the squeals of delight and gotten an eyeful of Mamori's sensational and perfectly displayed backside. Shimmying in some victory dance as her winning machine counted up at the far end of the waffle buffet their surprisingly reliable cabbie had recommended.

Fuck.

She'd caught him by surprised. Again. Lulling him into an easy a conversation and then giving up the details of her life as easily as this machine had given up her winnings. All it had taken was the right question at the right time, and she opened up, revealing new insights into the engaging creature he'd managed to capture for the night. She was a self-proclaimed recovering romantic. A woman who believed in love but had discovered through a lifetime of experience the heights of that particular romantic elevation to be beyond her reach. And she had accepted it, wasn't interested in the futility of an unattainable pursuit. She was a brainiac beauty. A freelance software engineer, successful in her own right. Confident where it counted and modest in the most appealing ways. Independent to an extreme and unafraid to buck conversation when it came to the achievement of her goals. Kind, funny and sexy. Now he stood behind her, their latest round of cocktails set aside– which maybe wasn't such a bad thing considering the kind of detours his mind had been taking. As he shrugged out of his suit jacket, giving in to the absurdly out of place bit of possessive insanity going nuts thinking about anyone else seeing this heart-shaped perfection. "Here, put this on," he said, slipping it over her shoulders.

"I can't believe it!" she gasped. "I never win. I never, ever, _ever _get lucky like this." Youichi grinned, watching as the bare length of her arms disappeared within his jacket. Reaching over, he adjusted the lapels, telling himself she'd looked cold. Then before he gave in to the temptation to let his hands linger near that tantalizing V of feminine flesh, or god forbid let his knuckles skim the softness there, he moved on to cuff her sleeves. Rolling up the arms until the slim band of her wristwatch shone beneath the flashing lights of her winning machine. It was a delicate band, but a little plain. The way he mistakenly thought about her, when really this girl shown like a diamond.

"Ichigo," she said breathlessly, those blue, blue eyes watching where his thumb stroked across the sensitive pale skin of her inner wrist.

"Youichi." What the fuck was he doing?

Her eyes slowly shifted, following the line of his arm, across his shoulder, to the top of his tie and then his mouth. Did she have any idea how seductive those few beats of time were when he could all but see her mind working through the possibilities of where her gaze lingered.

This woman… was fuckin' hot. And sweet. And smart. And funny. And she was staring at his mouth like it looked better than vanilla vodka and white chocolate liqueur. Like maybe she might want a taste after all.

Or even more.

Another beat and her eyes met his.

"Youichi," she corrected, the good judgment wrestling in those blue pools, barely holding out against temptation.

Damn, he liked the way she said his name. Especially when she got it right. He had an excellent idea for helping her remember too. Repetition. And positive reinforcement–the breathless, moaning, pleading kind.

Hours of it.

He could push–turn on the seduction and he'd have her. This flirtation he'd been playing at was nothing. For every easy suggestive line, he avoided eye contact. Because he knew, had a sense about what could be between them, and he steered clear of it. Only, now… he wanted more. Shaking his head, he glared at the half empty glass on the counter beside them. _Your fault. _

Pushing those thoughts aside, he put the arm's length back between them, the easy smile. The just-for-fun. Moments later they were outside in the night air, surrounded by the lights, the drifting foot traffic and steady stream of cars. "You just cracked two machines in a row. We ought to head back to the casino and find you a real jackpot. Or would you like to try something different, like roulette?" a deep sigh left her pretty mouth. "I don't think so. For someone who doesn't win very often, I'm happy to be coming out ahead the way I am. I don't want to push my luck."

"Something else in mind?" he asked. But he already knew, having seen the flash of resignation in her eyes.

Goodbye.

He didn't want the night to end, but she had a plan, after all. He respected her for it. Admired the sense of priority, forethought and commitment she put into it. Hell, that plan was probably half her appeal. "I've had a really good time tonight." Mamori shifted in front of him, her gaze skating away as her fingers slid down the lapels of his blazer, to where they idly played with the top button. "Me too. Of course, this is Vegas. It's still early." Her eyes pulled back to his, flickering only once to his mouth. "Early morning." And then her shoulders were straightening, her features falling into an altogether too polite expression. "And I've got a big day ahead of me."

"Big day of attending."

"Yes. And making up elaborate lies about our night together." This time her grin was pure imp. "Give Wakana and Julie something juicier to chew on than each other."

"Wow, you're going to lie about me?" he asked, settling his hand at the small of her back as they approached the curb in search of a cab. "I'm flattered." Nothing available, but one would come along any minute.

Mamori shot him a wry smile. "Actually, probably not. I want to. It would be so great. But lying gives me hives. Even for a good cause like keeping the peace at my cousin's wedding, I'm not sure I'd be able to do it."

"So you're one of those perpetually honest types huh?" he asked as they walked in the direction of the casino where they were staying. "Pretty much. Not always convenient. But I guess it keeps me out of trouble most times." Uh-huh, but if she didn't stop worrying that sexy bottom lip… nothing would be keeping her out of the trouble he had in mind. Only, then she noticed the way he was watching her, and looked away. He didn't want to lose her attention. Not yet. "With women like Julie and Wakana, I'm thinking not saying anything at all will be just as effective as telling them what catch I am–which, incidentally, is 99 % accurate."

"Only 99? Not 100?"

"Nothing is ever 100 % certain. But yeah, leave them to stew in their curiosity. Speculate to their hearts content. And give them nothing."

"Ooooh, it'll drive them _insane, _not_ really knowing._" She gasped, nearly bouncing beside him and making him wonder how deep her wicked streak could go. And if it ever blurred the lines into naughty. "God knows their imaginations are more colorful than mine." Giving in to another smirk, he offered. "I could help with that."

He was joking. Mostly.

Mamori stopped and shook her head, the straight ends of her hair brushing softly across her shoulders. "I'm sure you could." Even beneath the lights and glitz of the strip, he could see the rise of a deep blush in her cheeks, read all the subtle signs of hesitation as they came. He could see her talking herself out of every maybe, what-if, just-a-few-more, and only-this-once idea popping into her pretty little head. He could feel the tension as she wrestled with her conscience about extending a night they'd both enjoyed.

He knew she wanted to… "But you have a plan." Honest. Intelligent. Funny. Independent. Mamori was all that and more, with the kind of practical approach to love he couldn't get out of his head. Eyes to the sky, he pushed out a long breath–that stopped abruptly when his focus caught on the neon sign flashing over her right shoulder. She had a plan… but maybe it wasn't the only one.

God, she didn't want the night to end. But there was only one place it could go. And as much as the idea of falling into this man's bed appealed to her, it wasn't how she lived her life. It didn't matter that he seemed more soulmate than stranger. Or that she would never be in a position to let go like this again. If she gave in, she would just regret it tomorrow. And when she thought about this night, she didn't want there to be any regrets. So she swallowed and did what she had to do. "I have a plan."

The words opened an emptiness inside her, different from the one that had been so much a part of her every day. "Thank you for a wonderful evening, Ichigo."

His mouth tilted in another one of those unreadable half smiles.

Tempting. So tempting.

"Mamori, about your plan." He caught her elbow in a loose hold. "There's one thing I'm curious about." Facing him, she asked, "What's that?" his fingers slipped from her elbow down her arm in a soft caress, catching her hand in his he tucked it low against her back. Stepping in and, dropping his stare to her mouth, murmuring, "Just this."

And he kissed her.

At first, the shock of contact was all she could register. And then the slow, back-and-forth rub of his mouth against hers. The firm pressure. The gentle pull. The low-level current riding all the places they touched.

Yes.

_Just this._

The perfect end to a night she wished didn't have to. Seconds later there was a breath between them, passing back and forth in a soft was of warm and wet. "Youichi," he murmured, close enough she could almost feel the vibration on her lips. Mamori blinked, but didn't step back as she peered up into his eyes. "What?" the corner of his mouth tipped. "Wanted to make sure you remembered my name."

"Youichi." She sighed, closing her eyes to savor the moment just a little longer before she left. "That was very nice." Catching her with a crooked finger beneath her chin, Youichi brought her gaze back to his. When their eyes met, she had to blink. It wasn't the bittersweet sort of resigned longing _she felt _that was shining in his eyes. Not by a long shot. It was cocky arrogance and a sharply focused anticipation. "Not really," he said, curving his hand so it cupped her jaw. "_That _was getting you used to the idea." Her lips parted to protest, but before she had the chance to backtrack or reword her response, he swooped in again. Closing the small distance between them without hesitation. Taking her mouth as if it was his to do with as he pleased, making it his own in a way that had Mamori's hands rising of their own volition, her fingers curling into his tailored shirt, her moans sliding free of her lips and onto his. There wasn't anything even remotely _nice _about this kiss. It was hot. It was explosive. Consuming and intense.

It was the kind of kiss for behind closed doors. The kind she would never in her life believe she would have allowed to take place in the middle of a busy sidewalk. But then, she'd never been faced with the need to break away from something so damn good.

And then she wasn't thinking about what she should be doing at all. Where she was. Or where she was going. There was only the hot press of Youichi's body as he pulled her closer. The skillful exploration of a part of her that suddenly felt like undiscovered country. The slow lick of his tongue against hers.

Delicious. So good. Dangerous.

Another wicked lick was followed by a slow, steady thrust, and she was lost to it. Her hands moved against the hard planes of his torso in restless anticipation of what more he could give her. She might regret this tomorrow… but not nearly as much as she would regret walking away tonight.

When Youichi pulled back, she was breathless. Hungry. Desperate. This time, the elusive tilt to Youichi's lips was gone. He drew a slow breath, his brows seeming to draw lower through every passing second until his eyes had become fathomless depths, so dark she wondered if, once she fell in, she'd ever make it back out again.

"Okay, yeah," he murmured, as though having reached some internal understanding with himself. "Yeah, okay," she whispered, nodding. "But we have to go back to your room. I'm sharing a suite with Wakana and Julie." Only, then his head lowered to hers, and he pressed a single slow kiss against her lips before moving close to her ear. "I've got an even better idea."

Seconds later his hands had clamped around her hips and she was being hoisted onto his shoulder, where she bounced with his long strides. Delighted by thus show of caveman antics, she breathlessly laughed out a demand for an explanation. "I've got a plan…" he answered, confident and excited. "I'll tell you about it on the way. It's up here on the right."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Nope. still don't own it!

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Chapter 4

The quiet hum of the shower came to a stop, leaving only the silence of the villa roaring around him. Youichi stared out over the bedroom terrace and private Caribbean blue pool below, trying to anticipate what he would face when his wife emerged from her steamy refuge.

Mamori had held it together through those first minutes of realization, even managing a few joking remarks between bouts of nausea, bouts soon as she was strong enough to stand on her own, she asked for some privacy to clean up.

And he had been waiting since. Listening to the lock snap on the bathroom door as it closed behind him. Contemplating the single muted sob he heard before the echoing spray of water drowned all other sound. Piecing together the events, revelations and resolutions of the night before. Trying to reconcile them with the here and now of the morning. Mamori wanted a lawyer.

It had been the only definitive statement she made regarding their marriage in those few chaotic moments they'd spent ensconced in their marble-and brass hideout. Granted, she was probably as hazy on the finer points of the night as he was, but something possessive inside him was growling in outrage at the thought.

She was his wife.

She had married him. And not on some lark either, but because she recognized the potential between them, same as him. So, yeah, the alcohol may have played into the immediacy of his actions. But with every passing minute, the details of those critical hours they spent together and the woman he married sharpened in his mind, reaffirming his confidence in the decision to strike while the metaphorical iron was hot. And, no the irony was not lost on him, that after his patient, methodical approach to finding a wife had failed with Caro–Mamori had just dropped into his lap. Sure, sure, he had had to sell her on the whole thing once he'd seen the sense in it. But he was a man with a knack for identifying opportunity and the skills to convey the benefit of said opportunity to others. He could size up a situation and break down the key factors, without waiting for the proverbial knock at his door or encyclopedic pitch most people required prior to taking action. What he had seen in Mamori told him she was the kind of opportunity he shouldn't kick out of his bed for eating creampuffs–or more specifically, downing half Nevada's monthly import of vanilla vodka in one night. Their agendas were simply too well aligned to ignore. The timing too right. The practical approach too perfect. Mamori was like-minded enough to see it and agree. Mamori fit him to a T, so he wasn't prepared to admit he made a mistake. Not yet anyway. Though he supposed the next few minutes would be fairly telling on that count.

A bout of hysterics, for instance, would most definitely have him reconsidering his stance. The lock released with a loud click and Youichi steeled himself for what was to come next. Only, somehow the sight of Mamori, towel dried, freshly scrubbed and swimming in a thick, oatmeal robe as she tentatively pushed a damp tendril from her brow, was something he had no defense against.

She was fuckin' beautiful.

The steady way she met his eyes just proved even more she wasn't a meltdown in progress–and the right choice after all.

Though taking the rest of her body language into account, the crossed arms, the one hand securing the overlap of panels high at her neck and the other wrapped tight around her waist, suggested she wasn't quite ready to pick up where they'd left off the night before. She looked cautious. Alert. And cool.

_She looks strong,_ and it had his pulse jacking as much as the sight of those sexy little pink lips she was pursing in thought. "Feeling better?" he asked, planting a shoulder against the sliding door rather than giving in to the urge to get closer. He wanted her comfortable, as quickly as he could make that happen. "Yes, thank you." Clearing her throat quietly, she glanced briefly around before returning her attention to him. "I needed that. Needed a few minutes to get my thoughts together. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting out here, though."

_Conscientious. _Nice. "Not a problem. It's been an… interesting morning, and it started off a little faster than I think either of us expected." Her brows lifted as she drew a long breath. "It did, but considering our situation, that's probably for the best. We've got a lot to cover in a short amount of time." Then before he had a chance to ask, that steady gaze filled with purpose and her thumb popped up like a bullet point as she began.

"So, we'll both need a lawyer to navigate the legalities involved in granting an annulment. But I'd be willing to bet the front desk has at least some cursory information available about the process, this being Vegas and all. I'll ask when I run down to make copies of whatever documentation we got from the… chapel?" Youichi offered a short nod, his frown deepening as she ticked off to-dos with her fingers. _Independent. _He admired it. But she was working in the wrong direction. Mamori had made it to four before he pushed off the wall and caught her slender hands in his. "Breath. Okay? Just slow down a second." Her breath caught and her eyes went wide. "The fourth was this," she said, her voice coming quieter as she wiggled the offending digit in his grasp. "Your ring. I was afraid to take it off until I could give it back."

Youichi's brow furrowed as she began to slide the platinum and diamond set band free. "Wait. Let me look at it on your hand." Her gaze lifted to his, questioning and wary.

"It looks good on you." Worth every considerable grand he sunk into it the night before. Mamori nodded, the corner of her mouth curving in quiet appreciation. "The most stunning ring I've ever seen. I wish I could remember more than how incredibly it sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights in the wedding chapel bathroom." Youichi let out a low chuckle, playing with the band where it sat on her finger. And then stopped, suddenly not finding her words funny at all.

Staring down at the little crease working its way between her brows, he asked, "Mamori, you don't remember me buying you this ring?" she swallowed, and the crease deepened. "You can't even imagine how much I wish I did. But no. I don't actually–"

Seeming to think better of it, she abruptly snapped her mouth shut with a shake of her head. "It doesn't matter."

Like hell. "Mamori, it matters to me. Do you remember when I asked you?"

"No." not a blink, not a waver.

"The wedding?"

"I'm sorry. No."

Youichi stared at her, his mind stalled on the seeming impossibility of what he was hearing. Yeah, she obviously had a few too many, they both had. Hell, he had been hit hard enough where more than a few minutes had been required for the details to shuffle into place, and he probably had at least seventy-five pounds on her… but blacking out?

"Mamori," he started, working to keep the urgency out of his voice. "Exactly how much of last night _do _you remember?"

"A few minutes here and there."

Alarm spreading though him like wildfire, he waited for her to say something more. Waited for her to finish her sentence with 'seem to be missing.' Only, then the ring was free, being pressed into his palm, wrapped tight beneath fingers Mamori had dutifully closed for him. She was peering up at him, those blue pools searching his for something… anything maybe.

"I remember seeing you at the bar and thinking how handsome you were. I remember laughing… a lot, and at another point, talking over waffles, though about what I couldn't say except you looked serious then. I remember you joking about us picking out china patterns, and I remember knowing with all certainty you weren't serious. There weren't any maybes between us. It simply wasn't like that." Her cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink as she looked away. "I remember knowing I should slow down because I don't really drink much, but ordering another round because I didn't want the fun to end. I also remember signing my name in the chapel, thinking– God, I don't even know what. So, I guess, not really thinking at all."

Youichi stared, stunned as she turned away, a flush still blazing in her cheeks even as her shoulders remained straight. The air left his lungs on a hot expletive as he watched her nudge at the decorative pillows and shams littering the floor around the bed with her foot.

No wonder she was treating their marriage like some throwaway Vegas souvenir. This woman had a plan, and she didn't remember him. And yet, she somehow managed to hold it together, remaining calm and focused throughout.

She was tough. Strong.

Everything he wanted.

Her mouth pulled to the side. "I don't suppose you happen to know where I might find my dress?"

Images of the superfine, silky bit of red hitting him in the face flashed through his mind; only, where the dress went after that was a low priority of the night, as it was now. "Mamori. I'm sorry. If I'd realized, I would been telling you everything, trying to fill in the night, explaining what happened. Why didn't you ask?"

Closing her eyes, Mamori drew a steadying breath. Why? Because the details weren't important and she could decipher the broad strokes on her own. This gorgeous, carefree guy had tempted her with all the things she swore she could live without… the attention of a charming, desirable man, the chance to be utterly spontaneous, the indulgence in a night of reckless excess she wouldn't even consider once she had another person dependent on her. So her pickled mind had rationalized this last adventure. Vegas-style.

Maybe her blocking out their time together was some sort of defense mechanism. Looking at this man alone made her believe whatever happened between them could very well have been the kind of phenomenal a grown woman didn't recover from, and her inner psyche was simply trying to protect her. "Mamori?" The deep, rich tenor cut into her thoughts an instant before the heat of his hands settled over her shoulders, jolting her back to now. "Why?"

"It doesn't matter." And then those strong hands were turning her around, gripping her tight. "You're wrong. I don't think you understand. Last night wasn't just some goof to be rectified this morning."

She blinked, trying to look away even as she felt herself stumbling further into the intensity of Youichi's dark eyes. He thought there was something meaningful between them? Some potential?

This wasn't what she needed to hear.

"It has to be." She couldn't invest in potential again. She didn't have the time and she didn't have the will. "I have a plan." She expected him to back off a step, ask what she was talking about, but instead that single corner of his mouth turned up to the slightest degree. As if suddenly he found himself on better footing than he expected. "Yeah, but my plan's better. Even you think so."

She told him?

Her chin pulled back as she felt the sting of self-betrayal and cursed her inner psyche.

Was nothing sacred?

Images of the laughter came back to her in a sickening rush, and she couldn't help wondering if all her goals and intentions had been a part of the joke. Only, as she looked into Youichi's eyes, some instinctive part of her knew it wasn't the case.

So what, then…

"Oh, my God." Her throat closed tight, trying to strangle the words she didn't want to say. "Did you volunteer to be my sperm donor?" He was tall and handsome, without any obvious festering infections–

"No." His bangs, already hanging low over his eyes, seemed to drop even lower, obscuring what little chance she had to try to read the man who wasn't exactly an open book to begin with. "Not really. Not like you're thinking."

_Not like she was thinking? Like what, then?_ She thought with a fresh wave of panic. Her eyes fell to the empty spot on her ring finger. He had married her. So maybe it wasn't so much a donation at all. Donations were free and clear… and this guy had already tied her down with a fairly significant string.

He wanted dibs on her baby.

He wanted a claim.

Suddenly, her breath was coming faster than it should have been, and the air working its way in and out of her lungs felt thin and useless.

"Wait, Mamori. I don't know what you're thinking, but I can tell from your face it's wrong. Let me explain."

"You're gay." He had to be. What else would a guy who looked like this be doing with her? "The fuck…. That tilted smile was back and she knew she was right. "Okay, so you don't want your parents to know? You need an heir or something to keep your trust fund?"

"No–uh–I–uh–"

Shaking her head, she closed her eyes. "Look, Ichigo, either way, it doesn't matter. Whatever deal we might have worked out last night is off." She had been intoxicated. Even if she signed a dozen documents, they would never stand up. She could walk away, unless–

Her eyes widened as she stared up at him in horror. "Did you… try… to get me pregnant last night?!" Youichi coughed, his amused expression morphing into shock, confusion and something she really, really didn't want to believe was guilt no matter how much it looked like it. His hands came up between them, but she didn't care if he needed a minute to sort out his story or work through his defense. Spinning away, she banded her arms across her abdomen, sick with the knowledge of what she'd done. "Of all the stupid, self-sabotaging, dangerous–"

"Mamori." The way he said her name made it half plea, half laugh. What had she done? Even if she wasn't pregnant, she had had unprotected sex with a man she didn't even really know.

…_patient zero_...

Her stomach pitched hard. "He could have an STD," she gasped, her own anxiety pushing the words past her lips before she thought to stifle them. "Mamori." This time her name sounded strained coming through his lips. As though this guy was losing patience. Tough. Whatever he was thinking, he would have to put a pin in it. She had bigger fish to fry than worrying about his patience when her best-case scenario was not pregnant, not infected, but still having to push back her plan by six months to ensure enough time for any STDs to show up in the screen. "Damn it, Mamori, look at me." Those hands were on her again, spinning her around and holding her still as Youichi got in her face.

"One." He let go of her to fire a shot from a gun that suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Where was he keeping that, and how had she missed it? "I do not have any sexually transmitted diseases. I always use a condom and following the breakup of my year-long committed relationship had myself tested, as a precaution, regardless. Two," Another shot from the magically-appeared-gun. "Neither is there a trust fund nor some executor to appease regarding it. Every cent I have, I earned on my own. Three, where the fuck do you even _get _this stuff?" Another shot. "Four, I didn't marry you to get my hands on a baby. I married you because we had similar goals and priorities and expectations… and damn it woman, I married you because I liked you a hell of a lot too."

She shook her head, searching those impossible eyes. "But it doesn't make sense–"

He waved her off. "And five, I absolutely did not try to get you pregnant last night. We didn't have sex."

Her jaw dropped.

_So he was gay. _

Then why did that revelation hit her with such disappointment? She ought to have been turning cartwheels, or something. But she'd deal with that later. Only. Now that mishmash of backward thinking was in play again, rising up with a victorious laugh at a thought that should have spurred outrage. "But I was _naked,_" she challenged, recalling she had literally stumbled over her panties and hideous T-shirt sprinting to the bathroom. A lucky break considering how fast on her heels Youichi had been. Naked _and _puking would have been a low she didn't care to contemplate.

"Yeah, and I didn't say _nothing_ happened." With that concession, his gaze burned a slow path down her body, leaving her with the sense the bulk of her robe was all but invisible. He had seen her before. And right then, he was seeing her again.

"Youichi!"

His eyes met hers, completely unrepentant. "Damn. I love it when you get my name right."

"What… what?"

"Say it again for me."

"Okay," she swallowed. "I believe you. You're probably not gay."

"Mmmm. So sure?" he needled. Make that _definitely _not. Like they _definitely _should have steered clear of the topic of sex altogether. Because having touched on it, now those hard-to-read eyes of his weren't so hard to read at all. They were filled with a possessive sort of predatory heat… directed at her. "I could convince you. Spend the next hour or two making my argument." Leaning into her space, he added, "I'm a pretty compelling guy when I set my mind to it."

"Youichi," she warned, trying not give in to the laugh that threatened to escape. She should be horrified. Traumatized. So why was it, in the aftermath of the worst decision of her life, this man's totally inappropriate taunts and teasing were somehow making her feel safe. As if he sensed the ease in her tension, something changed in the man before her. The joking and pretense were set aside. Youichi was completely serious, and her soul-deep awareness of his shift in mood was more disconcerting than waking up next to a stranger. "Mamori, the reason we didn't have sex was because you went from laughing and sexy and totally in the moment to not feeling so great. So instead of taking you to bed, I put you there. Simple."

_Simple. _Somehow it didn't feel that way. He took her hand. "I should have realized how much you'd had to drink. I should have stopped us earlier."

"I'm a big girl with, what I thought was, better sense than this. I should've stopped myself. Obviously," she drew a slow breath and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to fight off the dull throb in her temples. "Look at where it got me."

"Married." Youichi's warm palm cupped her cheek as he searched her eyes, his elusive smile nowhere to be found. "To a man who's about as perfect an alternative to your plans as you can gets. And you don't even remember why."

"But you do?" she asked, the quiet words sounding too sincere for the sarcastic tone she intended. Suddenly she wanted that only half-the-story smirk back, because this straightforward intensity she could actually _feel _thrumming through the air between them, pulsing against her skin as if it was trying to get inside, was too much to bear.

_He was a stranger. _Only, this stranger was looking into her eyes as if he knew exactly who she was.

"More every minute."


	5. Chapter 5

I'm sorry about the wait, haven't been feeling well lately. Don't know if people are reading this but it's whatever I guess.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: yeah... not a chance in hell

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Chapter 5

Mamori's lips were parted, revealing that bit of wet just beyond the pale swell he wanted to run his thumb across. But Mamori didn't remember him. Which meant, though she had taken vows, signed her name, worn his ring and climbed all over him the night before… this morning, she didn't belong to him.

He understood it,

Accepted it.

Only, when she looked into his eyes the way she was now. When her breathing changed the smallest degree, and the color morning had leeched from her skin pushed back into her cheeks, it felt an awful lot like she was. Like on some level she knew what they had between them. And wanted it again.

He could show her how it had been. Kiss her until they were both breathless, senseless and she was begging him like she had–

Her breath caught. "I should find my dress." ….Or he could wait. Damn it. Moving back, Youichi shoved his hands in his pockets. Those big blue eyes were crawling away again, scanning the space around them as though salvation could be found in some dark corner of the room. Only, then they brightened as a small squeak escaped her, and Youichi realized she had found her dress. "Thank God! I figured I pretty well earned this walk of shame, but seriously, I didn't want to have to do it in a robe." Again Youichi felt a small pushing at his lips. She had a sense of humor. One he appreciated.

"Walk of shame huh? I don't know if married women qualify." Mamori cringed at the words he was trying on his tongue. Testing the feel of it in his mouth. They hadn't been bad or bitter or totally out of place, and he wondered if they might be an acquired taste he was warming up to. Something to encourage his wife to try. Mamori worried her bottom lip. "Looking at this dress, I definitely qualify." As sexy and smooth as it had been draped over her curves the night before, the wrinkled garment barely ranked above a rag this morning. "I can call down to the concierge and get you one sent up–"

Mamori choked, "Wait, don't – I'll wear one of your shirts or something."

"I like the idea of you wrapped up in one of my shirts… quite a lot. But first let's have breakfast." This time it was Mamori at a loss for words, and he savored it for the full second and a half he had before she found her new tack. "I can't stay for breakfast. I've got a wedding today. A real wedding." Youichi snorted. "As opposed to the fake, and yet legally binding, variety from last night." He said with a raised brow.

Apologetic eyes drifted back to him. "I only meant–"

He simply waved her off. "I know what you meant. One they planned. I know you're freaking more than a little, and probably desperate to get out of here. You want to collect your thoughts and all, but, Mamori…. We're married. We need to discuss this. You've got hours before your cousin's expecting you. We'll have some food to settle your stomach. Talk. Call it a– getting-to-know-your-husband date." At her hesitation, he said, "Come on, you're too much of a control freak not to have questions." The look in her eyes said it all. She had millions of questions.

But there was more than curiosity in those crystal depths. There was fear, as well. As if somehow, she was afraid of what she might learn. "Look, I can't be _that _bad."

"I don't think you're bad. I'm just confused and overwhelmed and…" she squared her shoulders. "I'm not even entirely sure getting-to-know-you anything makes sense, all things considered." All things considered. Code for the lawyers again. Divorce. Youichi cocked his jaw to the left and crossed his arms, looking hard at the woman he married the night before. No doubt a divorce would be the simplest solution. He could let her go. Put a couple of his lawyers on it, have the whole situation resolved quietly and quickly.

She didn't remember him. Them.

So really it would almost be as if the whole thing never happened.

Except he would remember. He would know. Putting up a shrug, Youichi made a decent show of nonchalance as he pulled the ace from his sleeve. "Yeah, you're probably right. Besides, if you need to talk, I'm sure Julie and Wakana would be happy to listen. You've got, what, four hours to kill before they get their hands on another distraction?" Mamori's startled gaze snapped to his. "Do they know?" Oh, yeah, fucking wife wasn't going anywhere. Not for a while, anyway. "They know you and I left the bar together, and you didn't come back to the suite you were sharing last night. So I'd say they know enough to make me the lesser evil on options this morning."

"The lesser evil, huh?" her brow quirked, leaving her mouth to hint at the smile and laughter that had gotten them into this mess. "Wow, you sure know how to sell yourself." Making him want more. "Don't have to," he said, crossing the bedroom. "Not when I'm up against those two." Her stare narrowed on him as she followed. "Fine. You win. Let's play getting-to-know-you."

Youichi did his best to rein in the victorious grin working over his mouth, and swung open the bedroom door. The master suite was situated at the end of the second level hall, overlooking the main living space where marble and glass gleamed in contrast to rich jewel-toned fabrics, heavily carved wood and silk covered walls Mamori's steps faltered, the shock on her face this morning even better than it had been the night before. "So, Mamori. The first thing you should know about me…"

"Uh-huh, yes?"

"I don't want a divorce."

"Just give it a try?" Mamori asked, sputtering at the insanity of the suggestion, casually tossed out as he perused an elaborate breakfast spread in the dining room.

"You're crazy."

Glancing up from the coffee he was about to drink straight, he grinned. "Exactly what you said last night. Of course, there had been a whole lot of breathless 'yes, please' tied up in 'you're crazy' then." Her eyes rolled skyward, even as she flushed fiercely. She could only imagine the circumstances. Didn't want to imagine them. But couldn't seem to help herself. In fact, every time her gaze touched on those criminally captivating lips… she started imagining all over again. Imagining, but not remembering. "Last night I was forty percent alcohol by volume. Last night doesn't count." Another shrug. "It counts to me. And if you'll sit down and have something to eat, I'll tell you why it counts to you too." Handing her the coffee, he nodded at the tray of pastries, fresh fruit, cheeses and breads he'd brought to the table. "Trust me on this, you want the food in your stomach first."

Youichi selected a croissant, set it, a tiny ceramic crock of butter and another of jam on a china plate with a silver knife, and pushed it in front of her. "Eat."

She looked at it warily, not really wanting to eat anything at all after the way her morning had gone so far. She was nervous. Frustrated. And more than a smidgen concerned about Youichi's apparent commitment to this monumental mistake. He didn't want a divorce. She didn't get it. It didn't make sense. "You don't know me," she started with a slow shake of her head. "Even if I'd talked you ear off from the minute we met until my little pilgrimage to the porcelain god… you couldn't really know me. My beliefs, my hang-ups, my shortcomings." Youichi heaved a sigh and met her eyes. "I know you wanted a conventional family, and I know, while you're friends with the men you date, you've never actually fallen in love. Same as me, that fairy-tale connection people go after like junkies looking for their next fix isn't a part of your makeup. I know you're tired of making yourself vulnerable again and again, hoping each time things will end differently. I also know you've figured out what you really want is a child, and you don't need a husband to get one."

Okay, so maybe he knew her a little.

Mamori sat back in her chair, watching this virtual stranger reach for her plate, rip a corner off her croissant, butter it and, as though he hadn't just relayed her deepest secret and greatest failures, hold it out in offering. "Eat, while I clear a few things up between us." Tentatively she took the bite, letting the flakes of rich, buttery pastry dissolved on her tongue. "For the record, I've been interested in settling down for some time. But contrary to what the evidence might suggest, marriage isn't something I take lightly or would jump into without serious consideration." When she opened her mouth to call him on that last bit, he lifted a handgun and went on. "Marriage is the foundation of a family, and I want mine to be rock solid. I want the security– for my children, and really us both as well– of knowing it won't crumble under some needy, emotional pique or the whims of a fickle heart. So I've been waiting for a woman with a specific sense of priority."

His brows pulled down as he stared at the table and then looked back to her with a knowing expression. "And before you start thinking I was just some guy on the make last night, out trawling for a wife, I wasn't looking for anything but a good time. And we had one, so it just hit me. You were the one."

"The one." There was a whole lot of weight in that statement. More than she'd expected to be shouldering through this weekend trip to Vegas. "Yes. Now, let me tell you how much I respect your plan to prioritize your child over the instinct to find a mate."

She gulped.

Wow, if she told him that, she really did tell him everything.

"It takes time to build a relationship. If you have a child, it's time you'll be taking away from him or her. What if it gets serious?" he asked, buttering another small piece of croissant. "You introduce little Mamori to this guy, but then it doesn't work out. Now you aren't the only one who's let down. It's your daughter or son, as well. Plus, there's the whole post breakup emotional slump to contend with. No picnic for a single mom, or the little person more in tune with her feelings than anyone else on the planet. That this isn't the kind of emotional cycling you want your child to go through says a tremendous amount about you. And, like I said, I respect it."

He spoke casually, seemingly at ease, and yet there was an intensity about him as he relayed this bit of perspective on her plan that implied a level of empathy beyond what she expected. A part of her wanted to ask him about his past. About his parents. Things she wondered if they discussed the night before. Only, to do so would open more doors, and she was already confused enough without adding images of this powerful man as a vulnerable child to the mix.

Youichi reach out to offer her the next bite and she caught his wrist in her hand. "I don't understand. If you respect my plans so much, how did we end up married?"

Those dark eyes held hers. "Because what I offered you was the best of both worlds without the risk of the worst."

"How?"

"Simple. This thing between us, Mamori. It's not about love."

Her chin pulled back as she absorbed the words. Felt them was through her with the same kind of phantom familiarity she'd been experiencing on and off with Youichi since she had woken up in his bed. Only, this time, something about it wasn't entirely comforting. Almost like a piece of the puzzle that was her missing experience had been put into place sideways and it didn't quite fit. Maybe it simply wasn't what she was expecting him to say, though why not, she didn't know. Surely she hadn't believed this man who married her within hours of their meeting had _fallen in love with her_. Talk about crazy. Still, somehow hearing him say it so bluntly, left her feeling… confused. So she asked, "If it's not about love, then what?"

Youichi gave her a satisfied grin. "All the vital components that make a relationship successful, without any of the emotional messiness to drag it down. It's about respect, caring and commitment. Shared goals and compatible priorities. It's about treating a marriage like a partnership instead of some romantic fantasy. It's about two people _liking _each other."

Liking each other. What this man was suggesting was what she'd had in most every relation she had attempted. With one major difference. In those relationships, neither she nor the man she was dating believed it was enough. Whereas with Youichi… "So, you're saying it's about expectations. If we limit them, no one's disappointed."

"Embrace them," he corrected, "because they work for us."

She nodded, saying the words slowly. "A partnership." Of course, this man wouldn't want anything more from her.

He frowned as he met her eyes. "I'm not talking about some relationship without any caring. I'm talking about improving on friendship. Without turning it into something neither of us is capable of delivering on."

"If what you're looking for is a friend, surely, Youichi, you must have hundreds to choose from. Women you know better. Trust more. Women who want this." Youichi stared at her a moment, considering his words before he spoke them.

"But I want you."

"The truth is, there isn't another woman I know better. At least not as it applies to core beliefs and priorities. You didn't know who I was or what I had or what you thought I wanted. In fact, from the start, the most consistent thing about you has been your unwavering honesty, even when it didn't suit your needs. I got to know the you who _didn't_ want a relationship. I like what I've learned about you Mamori. The independence. The sharp wit. The easy laugh and intelligent conversation. The authenticity."

"Sure, the historical events that made you the woman you are today are still a mystery, but what you want and who you are and how we get along… those things I know. I like."

She swallowed. "Because of last night."

It didn't seem enough.

"Last night. This morning. Right now. I like what I see."

"So even if I am the kind of woman you're looking for…"

"_The _woman."

She nodded, feeling more uncertain than she had since waking with no memory. "What makes you the man for me?"

"I can take care of you."

"I can take care of myself."

"I know," he said, that wry twist in motion again. "It's one of the many, many things I appreciate about you. You're independent and self-sufficient. Your happiness won't be contingent on the amount of attention I can give you any given week. But as fully capable as you are, my support would allow you to be more than a single parent, with a single income. Married to me, you can be a full-time mother instead of a slave to the workforce. You can work or not, whatever you choose. I have housekeepers, so any time you want time to yourself won't be spent scrubbing grout. My work requires travel. You and our children would be encouraged to accompany me. You could see the world, meet new people. There would be little, if anything, tying you down beyond the few expectations I have for my wife."

The muscles along her shoulders pulled tight. "What expectations?"

"There's a significant social element in my business, and I want a wife who can help balance the conversation. Playing hostess and accompanying me as needed for whatever comes up. Dinners, parties, charitable events. No more than a couple times a week. Also, our children – as many as you'd like – come first. They need to be your number one priority. And lastly it means respecting both me and our marriage vows."

She understood. "Fidelity."

"Fidelity."

No surprise Youichi wasn't the kind of man to sit idly while his wife entertained herself with the football pro from his inner circle, but within the marriage…

Her eyes drifted to where her hand was wrapped halfway around his wrist. She had been touching him all this time, and yet this was the first moment she was aware of the low charge running between them. Meeting his gaze, she could see in those dark pools an answering awareness of that connection.

Her breath caught.

"You won't be lonely with me, Mamori. I know what I'm suggesting doesn't follow the norm. It's not the traditional courtship and promise of love. But we aren't the most traditional people." Reversing her hold, he took her hand in his. "We have something good. All I'm asking for you to do is give it a chance."

A chance.

She believed it could be good. Which was part of the problem. Because something good would be hard to lose. She had already lost so many times, it wasn't funny anymore. It was why she came up with the plan. No more waiting for the other shoe to drop. Hoping for something that would never come. Except with Youichi, love wasn't part of the equation. He simply wanted a partner. Someone who understood his priorities the way he understood hers. He wanted to be another parent to _their children. _As many as she wanted. She had always dreamed of a household of kids. But when she decided on the plan, she had accepted in all likelihood there would be only the one. And one had been enough. But what Youichi was offering wasn't about _just enough._ He was offering her more than she believed she could wish for.

Still, the risk remained, reduced as it may be. What if she got attached – let herself believe in a family – and he changed his mind? Left?

She couldn't go through it again. "I need to think," she said, pushing back from the table and walking to the glass doors where the Vegas sun beat down, brutal and beautiful all at once, over their private oasis. Moving in behind her, Youichi rested his hands over her hips, pressing his thumbs into the tender muscles at either side of her spine. A part of her wanted to shrug him off, tell him to give her the space she asked for. But a bigger part recognized the act as an example of the kind of support he was offering. A subtle reminder she would not be alone. There would be someone behind her.

"I get it, Mamori. I do. You don't remember and it's scary to take my word on something so huge." Then it wasn't merely the touch of his hands she was experiencing, but the press of his body along hers. His chin rested atop her head, his chest at her back as he continued rubbing the tension from her body… and all she could think was how right it felt. "So I'm not asking you to believe in me right now. I'm asking you to believe in yourself."

She turned in his arms, her hands coming to rest on the planes of his chest as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Believe in myself?" Youichi brushed his knuckles against her temple, soft and light.

"You married me. Don't you want to find out why?"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

She'd agreed.

Youichi couldn't quite believe it himself – and yeah, it wasn't exactly the whole nine yards… more like a conservative six and a half by his estimate – but Mamori was spending the day with him. Giving him a chance to convince her of what kind of sense they made. Which meant he was going to Senna's wedding. Fortunately, a Vegas-style seating chart had more to do with who got to the bar first than which great-aunt was too blind to figure out she scored a table by the kitchen. Pouring another coffee for himself and a glass of juice for Mamori, he listened with half an ear as she checked in with Suzuna. She barely got past hello before a suspicious silence, followed by some stuttering and then more silence, confirming what he'd known from the start. Julie and Wakana had been running at the mouth, probably since Mamori and he took off the night before.

"I did stay with him… of course I'm fine, but that's not – Suzuna, you're getting married to my cousin today – yes, he is very handsome…" she said blushing and stuttering fiercely.

This was the difference between men and women. When Youichi texted Musashi to let him know something had come up and he would get in touch next week, the guy had texted back a single word. _Later. _End of discussion. Granted, it might have gone longer if he had mentioned the _something _in question was an exchange of vows, followed by a case of acute amnesia… but whatever.

"I know it's not like me… No, there were not drugs involved – stop! Suzuna, today is about you and Senna. When should I come by to help?"

Walking the juice over to the table, he set it down by her hand, running a thumb over her shoulder to make sure she saw it.

Then, covering the small of her back with his palm, he leaned close to her free ear. "Let me know if you need anything else." Her eyes were wide when she turned slowly to look at him, and pure masculine satisfaction surged through him at the obvious impact his actions had spurred.

She _wanted _to be convinced.

"Wait, what?" she asked, her attention firmly back on the call at hand. "You don't want me– ?"

Youichi look up, curious.

"Because of Julie and Wakana. Right… No, no, anything to make this day perfect for you." She sounded uncertain but resigned. "Well, I guess I'll see you down at the limo, then. And, Suzuna – could you get my bridesmaid dress sent over here?" after a few more details were exchanged, Mamori hung up and turned a hesitant smile his way. "Good news. We've got a few more hours to get to know each other."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Suzuna doesn't want to deal with Julie and Wakana while she's getting ready, and she can't have me if they aren't there, so we'll meet at the limo when it's time to go."

"Come here," he said.

Mamori crossed to him, a strained smile stiff on her lips, apprehension lurking in her eyes. Good news his ass. She'd been banking on the break. Taking her hand, he pulled her down beside him, leaving space between the crook of his knee and her hip, but keeping hold on her fingers. "Look, let's forget about all the reasons I'm such an obvious choice for a husband right now and relax. Talk." Her eyes narrowed on his mouth and she pulled back the slightest degree. "Why do I feel like you're about to sell me some snake oil?" Youichi didn't release her fingers, but tightened his hold, reeling her back in. "Because you're mildly pessimistic. Now, knock it off. You don't remember, but if there's one thing we do well… it's talk. About anything."

To prove his point, he picked up one of the papers delivered with breakfast and tossed it into Mamori's lap. "So let's get this ball rolling. Check the headlines and then give me the first thing that comes to mind."

"You are so cheating!" Mamori accused, her laughter doing little to back up the finger she jabbed at his chest. The finger he then grabbed and used to tow her off the knees she'd been perched on. And suddenly she was tucked in the small crease between Youichi's half sprawled form and the back of the couch. Again. And again, she planted her palm on the center of his chest, refusing to admit how tempting it was to simply stay there, and pushed herself up.

Youichi shook his head, all _who, me? _"Cheating? We're _talking."_

She shot him a skeptical look, not buying his wide-eyed-innocent routine for one minute. That he would even try it with a mouth like his was almost too much to bear. "Sure we are. Talking about our views on education. A topic we have remarkably similar beliefs on." Another wry smile twisted his lips. "So I'd like our kids to live at home, attending private school. And you agree. What's the problem?"

"Mmm-hmm. And before schooling, extreme-adventure sports. Funny topic to spring up out of the blue. And so coincidental you would be of the same mind regarding risk of that nature being off the table once a child's in the picture."

"I told you, we have a tremendous amount in common."

"Yeah, and you've worked it all into this 'casual' conversation over the last couple hours–"

"Come on, now, fucking wife," he said with a playful, too confident smirk. "I've worked a lot of things into this conversation."

"–conveniently omitting anything we disagree on."

Youichi's mouth kicked up another degree, his eyes heating in the way she found so startling at first, but was now beginning to look for. "Have I mentioned how sexy those smarts of yours are?"

An unbidden belly flip had her glancing away before Youichi could see how his words affected her. "I bust you for trying to play me, and this is your response?"

"Yes." The crook of his finger found her chin, and he pulled her back to his gaze. "But that doesn't make what we've talked about any less true. I'm a motivated guy, set on making sure I don't let something important slip through my fingers. I want you to know what I know." She let out an even breath, hating the way everything Youichi said made sense. Clicked, as if it was locking into some waiting place within her.

It was crazy to think, even for a second, about buying into this. She'd sworn she wouldn't do it again. Wouldn't take another risk. And this… this was a risk unlike any she had faced before. But staring into Youichi's deep blue-green eyes, all she could think was, what if this time the reward was worth it?

A knock sounded from the front door had Youichi breaking eye contact to check his watch and then pushing up from the couch. "Got to be your dress."

A moment later a gleaming brass cart was parked in the entry and Youichi was verifying the appointment for a stylist to do Mamori's hair and makeup. She tried to stop him, but he dismissed her protest, calling it a perk of being Mrs. Hiruma… said she should get used to it. Or at the very least use it while she had it. Fair enough. She'd given in. now she had to admit she was looking forward to letting someone else work on her hair. In all honesty, her plate felt a little full already what with all this marriage business. The herculean task that would have been making her hair wedding good just wasn't something she had room for. The door shut, and Youichi, all tapered cut and balanced perfection, was closing in again. The skin along her shoulders started to tingle in reckless anticipation of that back-to-hard-chest-and-stomach stance he seemed to favor.

And then he was there, running a thumb down the column of her neck. "Would you feel better if I shared a few points of dissent?"

Casting a glance over her shoulder, she saw his eyes were serious. And oh so close.

"Yes, I would."

Looking back at the dress before she turned around completely and did something monumentally stupid – which, considering her marital status, was really saying something – she pulled open the thin, protective plastic. Stroked her fingers over the silver, above-the-knee sheath.

Youichi cleared his throat. "Camp."

She shot another look back. "What?"

"I don't like the idea of sending the kids away for extended periods of time."

"But camp's a treat. Once they're old enough, of course. They have so many incredible programs out there. Nature camps. Space camps–"

"Yeah, arts and crafts, gymnastics, and everything else a little boy or girl could be interested in." shoving a hand through the blonde silk of his hair, he let out a sigh. "I still don't like the idea, but I've given on the point already." Her brows lifted along with the corners of her mouth as she turned to face him completely. "Oh. Any other small victories I should know about?"

"Christmas at home. Every year. All of us. Period."

She let out a small gasp at that, her hand moving to her heart in genuine shock. "You fought against… Christmas?"

Those dark eyes softened, crinkling at the corners. "Please wipe the ' he hates fucking puppies' look off your face. I didn't want to count out a trip somewhere exotic. But your arguments were compelling, so there was a compromise made."

Wow, he was so–

_Wait_

Her eyes narrowed on him. "And now you're showing me how _reasonable _you are with all your willing concessions. Do you ever stop?"

Yes, she was fully aware of just how _unreasonable _her response to this man giving her exactly what she asked for was. But based on the twisted smile playing on his lips, Youichi didn't seem to mind.

"Not until I get what I want."

She was getting lost in his eyes, feeling herself drawn closer with every minute they spent together. "And you want me." Youichi leaned in, closing the distance between them until the heat of his body was licking over hers. She swayed, suddenly breathless. The palm of his left hand flattened against her spine.

"I've got you."

His voice was a low rumble against her ear, the contact between them almost a kiss before he stepped back and handed her the dress. "What I want is to keep you."


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I own nothing! :)

* * *

Chapter 7

With her hair and makeup already done, Youichi had barely gotten his arm through the sleeves of his tuxedo shirt before Mamori was stepping out of the master bath again. This time decked out in the metallic silver bridesmaid dress that left nearly the full length of her toned loeg on perfect display.

Fuck.

Mamori shifted under his scrutiny, smoothing her hands over her hips with downward strokes probably intended to eke out a few millimeters of additional coverage. Not happening. "I had nothing to do with picking out this dress." As if he needed her to tell him. If Mamori had been picking, he imagined she would have selected something deceptively conservative. Like the dress she'd been wearing the night before. At first glance it had looked modest enough, but when he let his eyes linger for even a moment, the seductive hints had time to make an impact. The cut of the back, the line of the waist. The cling and fall, emphasizing all the right curves. Mamori had an eye for what flattered her, but she managed it in a stylish, understated way.

Something he liked.

Well, hell. He liked this dress too. But it was a different sort of appreciation happening here. "Let me guess. Julie?" he asked, thinking it had to be she of the GOT SPERM T-shirt behind this kind of flash. Mamori smirked. "You'd think. But believe it or not, this was all Wakana. Something about the dree being a gift to us single girls."

"Bridesmaid's gift?"

"Wakana was convinced these dresses would give us the pick of the casino." Youichi let out a cackle. "Well, she's got that right. And how fucking pleased I am that I get to go to this wedding, it's sure to be entertaining….

"Especially considering the time I'd have to be letting you out of my sights otherwise."

A wash of pink tinged Mamori's cheeks as the smallest smile played at her lips. "Are you the jealous type?"

"Let's call it possessive." Her lids lifted, and seeing the pleasure in her eyes at his statement, he added, "But only when something is very important to me." Pearly white teeth pressed into Mamori's lush little bottom lip as she turned away, fidgeting with the studs and links he'd set out on the polished mahogany dresser. Her hair wound up the way it was, she couldn't hide the pretty color suffusing the skin along her neck and ears. And he couldn't fight the rush of pure masculine satisfaction at having driven it there. After arranging everything into a neat row, Mamori turned back to him. Her cheeks showing only the barest hint of her remaining blush. "I should get my shoes on. And you…"

She bent a little, reaching for the shoes set neatly at the wall. Stood, shifted and tried again. Pulled at the hem riding higher with each attempt.

Damn. Thank you Wakana…

Flustered, Mamori cleared her throat. Clearly working to maintain her poise. "You should finish getting dressed yourself." She waved at his open shirt, her eyes lingering even as she turned her head. "We've got to get going pretty quickly."

"Mmm-hmm," he said again, making a mental note, once this better-than-a-late-night-cable-show was over and they left the villa, not to let Mamori bend over for any reason whatsoever. Catching on to his level of distraction, Mamori shot him a scathing glare… one that quickly dissolved into laughter.

"This is ridiculous. Stop staring so I can get my shoes!" then, eyes to the ceiling, she muttered something adorably mild about men and Wakana and wishing she had a parka.

"Okay, low of me," he conceded, not even trying to make it believable. "I'm sorry."

"Right." She laughed, only, the sultry sound of it died on her lips as he stepped close, catching her hips in his hands, giving in to the temptation to flex his fingers. Just once. Mamori's eyes went wide at the undeniably intimate contact again, and he waited, gauging her response. When she didn't push him away, he backed her toward the edge of the bed. "Why don't you sit, and I'll help you with those."

Mamori perched at the edge of the bed, still reeling from the feel of Youichi's hands sliding over her hips, moving the fabric against her skin as he guided her to where he wanted her to be. She shouldn't have allowed it. Should have done more than stare up at him helplessly. But something inside her wouldn't react to Youichi as a stranger. Her body remembered him… even if her mind didn't.

She wanted him. This sexy barefoot man, dressed in a black tux and a crisp, white shirt hanging dangerously open as he teased her. And for the first time, she understood the kind of mind-numbing allure that led women to make the worst decisions of their lives. And smile about it.

Youichi swept up her shoes with a finger through the straps and then knelt in front of her to lift her foot. "Do they hurt after all the walking last night?" he asked, running his thumb over her ankle and then rotating it a little. She stared, too caught up in the intimacy of the scene and how shockingly good it felt to respond with more than the barest shake of her head.

"Good." Eyes locked on hers, he slipped the point of her shoes over her toes, gently fitting the heel and running a lazy circle around her ankle again. She watched, breathless, as his large hands deftly worked the delicate glass-beaded strap through its buckle.

SO unbelievably sexy.

It was unreal.

It was… a fairy tale.

Which was bad.

This man was telling her their marriage was based on the kind of upfront honesty and pragmatic realism that kept expectations attainable. And yet, everything about him – his incredible looks, his wealth, his knack for saying exactly what she needed to hear and, most of all, his romantic overtures – screamed _too good to be true. _

So what was she doing buying into the charade? Letting herself see them years from now, chatting as they dressed together for some coming event. Youichi's fingers slipped beneath the buckled strap.

"Okay?"

"Perfect." Like everything else he'd shown her. Only, nothing and no one were actually perfect. Youichi's mouth pulled into a feral grin. "You make _perfect _sound like it's not such a good thing. And like you aren't talking about your shoe."

But she was talking about the shoe, only not the way it fit. "You're telling me this marriage between us is going to work because we aren't bringing any fairy-tale expectations into it. Yet here you are, down on one knee, fitting a glass slipper on my foot. Everything you do and say is like some fantasy come to life… which makes it hard to know what reality is actually going to feel like." Youichi gave her a thoughtful nod and set down her bejeweled foot. "I admit, I'm making every effort to sweep you off your feet. I want you to fall for me." He picked up her other foot, giving it the same attention as the first. "But if it puts your mind to rest, I'm pretty sure fucking prince charming wasn't using the old shoe excuse just to get his hands on his fucking wife's legs."

Buckles complete, he let his hands skim up over her calves, stroking a light path behind her knees as he went on. "What's more, based on the target audience for those shitty stories. I'd really hope he wasn't entertaining the kind of thoughts running through my mind as I watched you wrestling you short skirt. Because there was nothing PG about where my head was at."

"Really?"

A nod. "Strictly X stuff. I promise." He said with a cheeky grin.

"Youichi." His name was a plea on her lips, and the moment it sounded, the humor left his eyes and the lines of his face hardened. "We're good together Mamori. It's not about glass slippers or fairytales or love at any sight. It's not about private schools or mutual goals or any of the other things we've talked about today. It's about you and me fitting together. It's about this feeling of rightness you told me about last night. The one I've had since I met you. And I keep seeing signs of it. Tell me. Tell me you feel it too."

"I feel it." The connection was there. Undeniable between them.

But whether _feeling _right together for one day was the same as actually _being _right together through the rest of their lives…

"I just don't know–" The words died in her throat at the sight of burning heat staring down at her. The desire blazing in his eyes. Desire for her. The same desire firing through her body, spilling hot molten lava through her center and filling her mind with a smoky haze. Suddenly she wanted those big hands everywhere on her. She didn't want to worry about good judgment or long-term consequences. She simply wanted this man, whose promises sounded too good to be true, to deliver on the ones in his eyes.

"Youichi," she whispered, drawing her legs slowly in, and the man with them. "You make me want…" God, she couldn't say it. Couldn't even think it. All her rational though was tangled up in the rising awareness between them, the slow glide of his touch over her skin, the need simmering between them. And then he was off the floor, one hand moving from her leg to brace on the mattress beside her hip. The other climbing to the outside of her shoulder, so all she could do was lie back, staring into his eyes as his large body moved over her own. His knee replaced his left hand at her hip, and she was surrounded. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating off his body, the wash of his breath against her jaw, the tickle of his open shirt grazing her arms. Decadent. Intimate. Too seductive to resist. Her fingers closed around the draping fabric, pulling him towards her until only the barest of space remained.

She pulled again. A subtle nudge. Then a stronger tug, but all it earned her was another one of those devastating half smiles and the slow shake of Youichi's head as he reached into his pocket and withdrew her ring. Braced on one arm and his knees above her, Youichi slid his free hand up her left arm, rolling the glinting diamond band along the path of her skin until he held it poised above the tip of her ring finger, so close she could feel an almost magnetic pull from the wanting.

It would be so easy to give in. give him what he wanted. What, on some level, she wanted too. Let him slide that platinum band over her finger, and say yes to what would inevitably feel good in the moment, but had the potential to devastate if she wasn't careful. Forcing the air in her lungs to move again, she managed a single word. "Wait."

Youichi's smirk quirked suggestively. "Nervous? I promise I'll be gentle. I've done this before." Her eyes closed as she once again found herself relieved by his sense of humor and ability to lighten the mood without undermining the seriousness of what was at stake. Finding more breath, she whispered, "We can't. Not yet."

"Why not? We're already married." His voice dropped lower as he lightly teased the diamond band around the tip of her finger. "I can tell you want it."

Yes, right then, she did. But wearing his ring meant giving up her plans. Giving up a promise she'd made to herself… for the chance of something so much more. Youichi was poised above her, his sharp gaze studying her every minuscule reaction. Hesitation. Blink, blush and tremor. Tentatively, she placed her free hand against the center of his chest. His bare skin was hot. Firm. Tempting her towards reckless action just to ensure she had more time to enjoy it.

But she simply wasn't who she was. If he knew her at all, he would understand.

"I'm not ready. I'm not sure I can give you what you're asking for." A nod. Then, "Wear it anyway. You're still my fucking wife for now. Why not try the whole package on and see how it feels?" her gaze drifted over to the band of diamonds so close to sliding home. Each flawless stone throwing off light in all directions. It was exquisite.

Nothing could compete with this ring.

Swallowing once, she peered back up at Youichi, who waited above her, the possessive intent in his eyes making her ache to give in. but she couldn't do it. "It's probably better if I don't." Trying to match his lighter tone, she curled her fingers into her palm and dodged, "And about this whole being married thing. I was thinking we might not mention it. Let everyone think I'm just a cheap floozy rather than the honest woman you've made me."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Youichi swallowed, his body going still. "You don't want them to know."

Guileless eyes met his. "I'd prefer they don't"

And then she was wiggling out from beneath him. Crawling off the bed from one side as he backed off from the other, returning the ring to his pocket. Mamori stood in front of the bureau mirror frowning at the few hairs out of place from their brief roll in the sack. They had to leave soon, and considering he'd actually hired someone to sculpt her hair into perfection, it made sense she would be trying to fix her look.

But suddenly all he could see was a woman concerned with her image, and for the first time he wondered if he didn't really know her after all. He shook his head. It couldn't be right. "I thought you didn't lie." It was the quality in her he appreciated above all others. It was _important _to him.

One brow shot high as she turned to meet his eyes. "I don't. But that doesn't mean I walk around regurgitating every personal detail of my existence without prompt. I'd prefer you not bring it up, because seriously, no one is going to ask."

A lie of omission. Well, that was irony. He knew all about them. Had been one for the first decade of his life and had sworn never to be one again. Yet here he was, married to a woman making a dirty little secret out of him.

Okay, so it wasn't as though he discovered Mamori stowing the ring in her car's ashtray while she hit the bars. They had been married for less than twenty-four hours, and she wasn't even certain she wanted to wait another twenty-four before filing for divorce. But still, her not wanting people to know rubbed him the wrong way. Partly because one of the first things to attract him to her was the way she owned her life. Her actions. She wasn't making excuses or apologies or even taking the easy way out of an explanation. In the few hours he'd known her before he talked her into changing the plan for both their lives, she made him believe in who she was. How she lived. And this – this secret didn't fit with that.

Which made him wonder about some of the other things he believed.

"I told you honesty was important to me. We talked about it _today_." Same as last night, she agreed about the critical importance of trust in any marriage, but especially one not based on love.

"Youichi…" Mamori's voice had taken a stern edge, as though she was the one who didn't like what was being said. "This is my cousin's wedding, and while we aren't spectacularly close, if I show up with your ring on my finger, no one's going to pay attention to Sena and Suzuna's wedding at all. It wouldn't be fair to Suzuna. I'm sorry, but I hope you can respect my feelings."

Youichi's head snapped up, the lead boulder in his gut evaporating under her words. "You aren't trying to hide something you're embarrassed about?" her head titled slightly, as if she wasn't quite sure what she was hearing. "You mean because you're such an unattractive, insufferable dog who's probably going to fleece me for everything I'm worth… and I wasn't smart enough to chew my arm off for a clean escape?"

The laughter was back, bolstered by more relief than he thought he could experience. "Something like that." Mamori gave a tiny smile before turning thoughtful. "I suppose," she started. "if I'm being totally honest, I am a little embarrassed about it. I mean, I made one of the biggest decisions of my life during a night when I'd drunk so much I don't even remember doing it. But I'm not under any delusions about keeping our marriage under wraps. Everyone at this wedding is going to know about us – approximately two seconds after I talk to my mother. Which is why I haven't called her yet."

"What if we decide to divorce? You could sweep it under the rug." Mamori laughed. "Maybe you could, but not me. Even knowing she can't keep a confidence to save her life, I don't keep secrets from my mother. I'll tell her what's happened as soon as I get home. Then the minute I hang up…"

Mamori's eyes closed, and she drew in a slow breath. "Believe me. I'll be hearing about this for the rest of my life. Regardless of the outcome.

Youichi offered a hand to Mamori. "You okay with that?" Mamori wagged her head a little, eyes on the ceiling. "It's my life. So yes. I'm good with it."

Damn, he liked the things that came out of this woman's mouth. He liked the way she thought. The way she cared. The way she lived. The way she stood by the choices she believed in. and despite his initial reaction to her not wearing his ring, he liked the way she could see past her own situation to consider the feelings of those around her. That strength of character was what he wanted for his family.

"And with me?" he asked. "If I promise not to bring it up, are you still fucking okay with me too?" Mamori's eyes were soft, steady as she met his. "I'm okay with you too."

The wedding went off without a hitch. Sena and Suzuna tied the knot in a chapel not so different, according to Youichi, from the one where they'd been married the night before. The vows were made, the rings exchanged and then the marriage was sealed with a kiss. It was beautiful, despite Julie and Wakana making jokes at Mamori's expanse throughout the ceremony, laughingly suggesting in her lack of experience she'd managed to botch her one-night-stand by dragging it into the next day. She was prepared for the barrage of teasing. Had warned Youichi about it. But what she hadn't expected was how protective her new husband was. The way he managed to sabotage most every joke the quibbling duo attempted. Still, the girls were nothing if not persistent.

"So, really, Youichi, what are you doing here?" Wakana asked, straining to be heard over the nightclub music booming around them. "I mean, sure, Mamori reeled you in last night, but aren't you ready to rip the hook out and take off yet?"

Whether she was going for flirtation or just a joke, the question was typically tactless, and Mamori reminded herself white chocolate martinis weren't a solution. Not since the idea of them alone had her stomach ready to revolt. Youichi stretched his arm across the back of Mamori's chair, the warmth of it permeating the tuxedo jacket he wrapped her up in as soon as the ceremony ended. "No fucking way. Mamori's stuck with me."

Julie leaned forward, putting her best assets on display. "Stuck with you?"

A slow heat started to build in Mamori's cheeks as all eyes shifted to where Youichi's thumb ran lazy patterns against her shoulder. He was attentive without being overly demonstrative throughout the evening, obviously making an effort to respect her wishes and keep their marriage under wraps at least until the ink dried on Sena's matching certificate. But this line of questioning could lead them towards the truth in a hurry if something didn't change.

Julie's shrewd eyes darted between them twice, before she stepped back with a cool laugh. "Oh, Mamori, tell me you didn't?" her heart sank. Somehow Julie had figured it out. Suzuna, who was waiting as expectantly as everyone else would never forgive her.

"Tell me you didn't go and make _another friend_?" the last words fell with such disgust it took Mamori a second to realize she hadn't been discovered. She didn't need to feel ashamed for hijacking her cousin's wedding. Relief washed over her in waves, buoying her mood enough she couldn't contain the smile stretched across her face.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Youichi asked, casually enough. Only, something about his voice sounded off, and as she turned to face him. She didn't like the look of his half smile at all.

"Nothing. It's nothing, Youichi," she said, hoping he would recognize the plea in her eyes for him to leave it. The plea and the promise that she would explain later when they weren't within glowering distance of Suzuna's wedding party. "I'd love another tonic. Any chance you'd come with me to the bar?" After a beat, the half-smile turned into a full blown grin and Youichi stood, offering her his hand. "How about a dance first." Before she could mutter a protest, he had her flush against his chest and was deftly leading her with his hands, thighs, chest and hips into the midst of the club-goers. Moving in a way that was all easy rhythm and physical confidence. Nothing _friendly _about it. Within a few minutes, she returned to the state that teetered between laughter and lust and was totally unique to her experience with Youichi, leaving Julie and Wakana and all their barbs a distant memory.

Youichi signed off on the open-bar bill for their group and then grabbed the tall tonic and ice Mamori had requested, eyeing their table like a man about to face the gallows. Mamori was still in the ladies' room, but something told him waiting for her outside the door would smack of stalker. So rather, he made his way to the table prepared to deflect the pointed questions about his bank accounts, Hiruma industries' worth and whether Mamori had managed to snag any of his sperm.

He was ready to get the hell out of there. First, because his fucking wife's laugh, which was all kinds of sexy abandon, was proving to be a temptation he couldn't resist much longer, and second, because the fucking Tibble twins (as he dubbed them), and even Suzuna, were grating hard. Pushing buttons he hadn't even known he had. Mamori's ability to let it roll off her back gave him the senses that she had too much practice. He did not like that.

As it turned out, Suzuna had kicked off her shoes and propped her feet on one vacant chair, leaving the only other available between the fucking Tbble twins, whose antics had vacillated between mildly annoying and downright nasty.

No fucking way.

Sena and his two groomsmen were in the same kind of joking, and congratulating conversation they'd been engaged in through the rest of the evening – excepting the ceremony, of course – the life-long friendship kind.

Opting to stand off to the side, he watched the dance floor while he waited for Mamori. A cackle of laughter had the muscles of his spine tightening unpleasantly. Then Suzuna's chiding reprimand. "You two are terrible!" he didn't want to know. Shouldn't even have been able to hear over the music. A less-than-delicate snort from Julie. "Please, it's pathetic."

_But their voices._

And Wakana. "She can't stop collecting these guys."

That brought his head around. They hadn't noticed him standing behind them, and again they were talking about his fucking wife. The woman who'd fought with him in an effort to respect this day. "I don't know who she thinks she's kidding with this one. There's no way–"

"No way," Julie chimed in.

"–he's anything more than the next 'friend', trying to do her some sort of favor. Keep us off her back probably." Suzuna held up a hand between them. Good. Her cousin-in-law (practically her little sister), showing some loyalty. Only, then she started talking and his vision went red.

Mamori's steps faltered as she approached the table. "…keep wondering with all these 'buddies' is if she's _so great to talk with,_ then what exactly is _bad enough _to drive these guys away?" Mamori's breath caught in her throat as Suzuna sloppily speculated on her life with Youichi standing directly behind her.

He'd heard.

She knew by his utter lack of reaction. The stillness in a form that was so much energy. Wakana nodded sagely as Julie glanced up and, catching Mamori's eye, let out a snort of laughter. Closing her eyes, she drew several breaths. They'd already put in their time. They could leave. Maybe he wouldn't say anything and they could just forget it.

When Mamori opened her eyes, Youichi was already around the table, no doubt as ready to make a break for it as she was. More. Suzuna wasn't even his relative. Lucky. And then he was at her side, sliding a hand around her waist as he pulled her close. Closer. And closer still until her eyes went wide as his marauding hand slid across her bottom in a slow, blatant caress to rest at the very top of her thigh. Face burrowed into the side of her neck, he drew a long breath, teasing his nose along the sensitive stretch of skin behind her ear.

He was making a point. Letting them see what she asked him to reframe from doing for the sake of Suzuna and Sena's special day. Really, she couldn't hold it against him. In fact, it sort of made him her own personal hero. Letting her pull back enough for decency, Youichi smirked down at her. "Why don't we get the hell out of here?"

Julie's chin pulled back and Wakana rolled her eyes. Suzuna scrunched up her nose and stuck out her bottom lip. "No. you've got to stay. Bride's prerogative and all. It's my day so park it."

Youichi's menacing half smile slanted over his lips as he looked at the table. All nonchalance, with one hand still resting dangerously low on her hip, the other tucked casually in his pocket. "Bride's prerogative," he murmured. "Definitely."

She should have seen this coming, should have known. But it wasn't until he caught her hand that she saw what he was holding.

The floor dropped out from under her.

"Mamori," he said with a doting smile and a steely glint in his eyes. "I know you wanted to wait, but honestly I can't. Not. Another. Fucking. Second." She was too stunned to react when he slid that gorgeous glittering band over her finger, raising their joined hands for everyone to see. "I know it was fast, but there wasn't a chance in hell I was letting this woman get away."

Suzuna was the first one to pick her jaw up off the floor, her watery eyes now darting between the ring she wore and Mamori's. "You got married," she gasped. "At my wedding?" Mamori started fumbling for something to say, for an apology maybe, though it didn't really seem right. She opened her mouth, only to have the air squeezed out of her lungs by Youichi's arms wrapping snug around her. "No, of course not." He assured with all the sensitivity of an assassin. "We got married first. This morning."

Julie and Wakana were both shaking their heads as if understanding was impossible. "I know it's early, but I think we've waited long enough to get back to our honeymoon. So if you'll fucking excuse us…"

And with everyone watching, Mamori found herself swept off her feet, tucked into Youichi's arms. "Drinks are on me tonight. Congratulations."


	9. Chapter 9

disclaimer: I own nothing! :)

Chapter 9

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" Mamori demanded from the far side of the elevator where she stood, hands on hips, eyes boring into him like little embers of hell. Youichi snapped the picture from his phone then slid the device back into his pocket before it ended up incinerated beneath his fucking wife's firey glare, or more likely crushed beneath the spike of her sexy glass slipper.

"Documenting our first fight."

For a moment, all the red-hot rage directed his way turned to utter shock, leaving her sputtering in a way he couldn't deny he was getting a serious kick out of. But in a blink, she rocketed back to fury, leaning into the space between them, her voice going lethally low. "I can't _believe _you did that."

He let out a cackle at that. "It's something for the scrapbook that I know you'll make," he said. "You'll thank me later."

"You know good and well I'm not talking about a picture." Yeah, he did. The way he knew taking a snap of her when she was this cranked up was probably a move just short of suicide, but like his decision to break his promise to her back in the club, it was one he wouldn't regret. "We had a deal," she hissed, her eyes darting between him and the elevator's digital display. "But maybe you forgot. Or perhaps our agreement didn't suit your needs at the time, so you _just changed your mind._" The car slowed, sounding a low chime to alert them they'd arrived at their floor. The door soundlessly opened and Mamori turned forward – her face a mask of calm, belied only by the rapid pulse at her neck. Placing his hand at the small of her back, they stepped out into the main floor.

"Definitely the latter," he answered quietly at her ear. A taunt, almost daring her to lose her cool in the midst of all these people. But not Mamori. She kept it together, impressing him more and more. Confirming once again how well suited she was to being his fucking wife. Not that he would make a habit of goading her in public. He didn't expect much fighting, but it was important to know how she would handle it.

From there, they walked silently through the hotel, before arriving at their private villa. He was more than ready to go toe-to-toe with her on this point, regardless of what kind of ire she had. That scene at the nightclub was beyond unacceptable.

The second they were inside, Mamori spun on him. "_You promised me._" He had. But circumstances weren't what he'd expected, requiring a judgment call, and he made one. He fired a round of bullets from a gun that he pulled from nowhere.

"Did you hear what they were saying?" he demanded, giving his own ire its head. "I wasn't going to just let those shitty, backbiting–"

Her hand cut through the air. "I don't care what they said. All that matters to me is what _you _said. _Your _words. What it's worth. What I can believe." He held her stare, not backing down. "_You can believe _I took you to be my fucking wife. To honor, respect and _protect_, for all the days of our life."

Mamori blinked up at him, suddenly at a loss for words. "Those were our vows?"

"They were mine. And I meant them. I'm not the kind of husband to twiddle his fucking thumbs while my fucking wife is maligned. I would've liked to accommodate you tonight, Mamori. I intended to. But in a choice between breaking my vow to protect you and breaking my vow to protect your cousins 'special day', you can fucking count on me to put you first every time."

"Oh." She swallowed past the knot of emotion in her throat, trying to force it back down. Trying not to allow a few simple words the power to leave her vulnerable. Then after a moment, Youichi closed the distance between them, pulling her into his chest. "I'm sorry I had to break my promise to you. But I meant what I said about taking care of you. I won't just stand there while someone hurts you."

"I could have handled it." She'd been doing it her whole life. "Why should you?"

"Suzuna deserved to have her wedding day." More than that, because he'd agreed to let her! "Yes, but so did you." Youichi caught her face in his hands, tipping it back so she was looking up at him. "Just because you don't remember doesn't mean it doesn't count." Everything he said sounded so right. Tempted her to trust. To leap. But the void she was looking out over was simply too great to ignore.

Searching his eyes, she asked the question that was the crux of her fears and reluctance. "What if you change your mind?"

"That's the point, Mamori. I won't."

"Commitment–" he rubbed the bridge of his nose as he let out a thoughtful sigh "–it's very important to me. I'm not looking to fill some temporary position, Mamori. I want a wife who will stand by me for the duration." Only, then something in his expression shifted. His eyes went distant for a beat before snapping back to hers. Sharper. More intense. "Maybe if you had more time…"

"You mean date?" she asked, knowing she wouldn't go along with it. No more waiting around to see whether something panned out. No more false hopes and years of indecision–

"No," he said with a hard shake of his head, confirming they were in agreement on the no dating. Youichi leaned into her space, putting his face before hers so the sincerity in his eyes was front and center. "Understand this, Mamori. You're my fucking wife and I want to keep it that way. But I realize everything hasn't fallen into place for you the way it did last night and I'm asking for a big leap. Still, I'm confident, with a little time, it will. So I suppose a trial period."

"Three months!"

"If you don't think we suit, I give you a divorce and you return to your life before me, your old plan included. However, for now, we start as we mean to go on. You live with me… as my fucking wife." He finished with a fanged smirk.

Her throat felt dry, her heart pounded too fast. It was crazy! What he was suggesting… "You'd introduce me to your friends and business associates? What if I wasn't happy and wanted to leave?"

"You go. Mamori, I'm asking you to give our marriage a shot, not to try and pull a Houdini get-out-of-the-chains-before-you-drown. Granted, I don't believe you'd leave without giving us a chance. Not once you'd made a commitment – one you actually remember taking, that is. Besides, you're not going to want to leave."

He made it sound so simple. She was so tempted, time and again throughout the day – but the doubts. They simply weighed too much. "I've finally found a way to be happy, Youichi. I know you think because love isn't a factor that this arrangement you're suggesting comes without risk, but it doesn't. Not for me. I can't put my faith in someone else again. And that's what you're asking me to do. It – it hurts too much to be let down. I'm sorry."

"You don't think the reward would be worth the risk?"

"I don't know. And maybe that in itself should tell us both something," she whispered. "Yeah, it does. It tells me instead of waiting, hoping you'd remember or come around, expecting you to see the big fucking picture when I hadn't given you all the goddamn pieces, I should have just done this." Before she could blink, he had pulled her into a kiss. Mamori was flush against his body. Her hands trapped between them, where they'd come up in a stunted defense that stopped before it really began – stopped at the strange familiarity of this intimacy she couldn't quite remember – stopped at the foreign heat inexplicably swirling like a whirlpool through her center, pulling deeper, concentrating with every back and forth pass of his mouth over hers.

No wonder she blocked it out.

Youichi's kiss was even better than she imagined. So good, she felt the resistant determination slipping from her body even as she grasped after it. But it was gone, having taken the edge of aggression in the dark depths of Youichi's eyes with it. The hands at her shoulders snaked around her waist and into her hair. The pressure against her lips increased and she opened to him. Afraid to miss even a second, she couldn't blink and her eyes remained locked with his, anticipating the taste and texture of him mixed with her own.

Only, rather than take his fill, Youichi barely breached her mouth, skimming the inner swell of her bottom lip with a slow, agonizing lick so compelling it temporarily overwhelmed even the instinct to breath.

Using the hand wound loose in her hair to angle her head, he deepened the kiss. Enticing her into a return of action – the tentative flick of her tongue against his. It was all the invitation he needed, and hands tightening at her hip and hair, Youichi's low growl of satisfaction slipped through her lips an instant before the firm thrust and retreat of his tongue. The penetrating claim wringing a response too strong, too immediate, too intense to deny. And then she was clutching at him, pressing close even as he pulled her closer still.

It wasn't enough.

Not for either of them.

Youichi grasped her bottom in a firm, kneading caress. Then the back of her thigh, pulling it up along the outside of his leg. Rocking into her so she felt the steely length of him against her belly and the hard press of solid muscle between her legs.

From somewhere in the back of her mind, she was vaguely aware of all the reasons this was such a bad idea… only, she didn't care.

Couldn't stop. Even if she wanted to.

Another deep thrust, and then Youichi's devouring mouth moved down to her jaw, her neck. Licking, sucking, pulling at the tender spot until she through her head back, and her hands restlessly worked between them, grasping at the panels of his shirt. Trying to get a hold enough to rip it open.

"Mamori, Mamori," he groaned, the warm wash of his breath as intoxicating as the friction of his lips. "Baby, it's going to be so good. Tell me you want this."

"Yes," she moaned. "Yes, yes, yes, please. I want you." His knee pressed higher between her legs, raising her skirt as he rocked his thigh against her intimate flesh in a way that had tendrils of pleasure sliding through her center. Flicking a teasing lick over the corner of her mouth, he murmured, "Tell me, yes…. Tell me you'll be my fucking wife." This wasn't the time for that discussion. This wasn't the time for talking at all. "Later. Please, we'll talk more about it later." His hips dipped lower, giving her a fleeting taste of the thick ridge of his erection.

Once.

Oh, God… so hot!

Twice.

Her fingers knotted in his hair as liquid heat spilled through her belly. And then again. Her breath rushed out on a gasp at the sharp, needy spasm deep within her.

"Tell me you're coming home with me tomorrow."

"Youichi, please," she begged, her body on fire. "You don't even know how much I like the sound of that," he whispered against her parted lips. "How much I want to hear it against my ear as I move inside you… pushing in deep…"

A whimper escaped her at the erotic images sliding through her with the rough stroke of his voice. "… taking you higher and higher…until you shatter in my arms."

"Yes…" she was about to shatter already.

"Yes, what, Mamori?" he asked, trailing his fingertips from the back of her knee to the curve of her bottom and back. "You know what I want to hear."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Wait. What? "Are you… blackmailing me with… sex?"

"I don't know." His hips pulled back a fraction of an inch. "Would it work?" her answering whimper was proof.

It would.

Even knowing the game he played, Mamori was a hairbreadth from promising anything Youichi asked for – if it meant he would finish what he started. Only, somehow in the past seconds, her stalled-out mind had sputtered to life again. Weakly turning over the events unfolding around her. Events that would shape the rest of her life. "No," she choked out, forcing her hands to be still. Her eyes to open and meet the burning blue-green of Youichi's stare.

"Damn."

She could see the indecision in his eyes… the debate whether to try again. Try harder. A tremor of hope slipped through her belly at the thought. One she ruthlessly pushed aside. "What is this?" she asked, waving a hand between them. He shook his head, an almost bewildered look on his cocky face. "It's hot."

It was more than hot. "It's distracting. I can't think."

"Good, agree to give me three months."

But before she could even contemplate giving him three minutes, his mouth was over hers again, his tongue sliding between her lips in a slow, seductive thrusts. Once again tempting her reservations to abandon their posts.

Her heart racing, breath ragged, she shook her head, forcing her hands to center at Youichi's chest and then giving him a small push. She couldn't agree to anything. Whatever state she was in last night, at this moment, the impairment of her judgment was at record level.

"Mamori," he murmured, watching her form beneath heavy lids. Oh, hell, that look. She swallowed, taking a step back. And then another. She needed to get away. Needed space to breath. To think.

"Come on, baby. Don't run away. Let's sit down and talk." Her gaze shot to the couch. Within a blink, it had become fodder for more scenarios than her experience could justify – a den of seduction, rife with erotic potential. She _had _been reading a lot of adult books lately… she blushed.

"I'll keep my hands to myself," Came another low rumbling assurance, pulling her focus back to Youichi. Standing where she'd left him, the shirt she'd been trying to free him of spread wide to reveal the hard muscles banding his abdomen and the perfect discs of his nipples. Her mouth watered as another couch-side scenario accosted her. "Sure you will." Fine, maybe he would. Maybe it wasn't _his hands _she was worried about. "Don't believe me? You could always tie my hands." Youichi grasped one end of the tie hanging loose at his open neck, let it twist around his finger as he held it out in offering. His wicked, fanged smile pushing new limits. "Unless you'd prefer–"

"No!" okay, it definitely wasn't his hands she was worried about. And with what she was thinking, she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to sit on any couch again, let alone that one. She forced her feet to move one after the other until she cleared the stairs and made the master suite again. Arms crossed, she gripped the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head. Stepped into the shower and jerked the tap cold, bracing for the crush of clarity she prayed the icy deluge would bring.

"_Agggghghh!_" she half shrieked as arctic needles fired against her overheated skin, coating her body with the cold wash of reason returned.

She had been about to agree to… well, anything!

Marriage.

Moving across the country.

And God help her, even with the chill of reality raining down over her… all she could think about was the way his kiss had all but consumed her.

A low groan of reluctant need slipped past her lips, and she positioned her face beneath the pounding spray, waiting for the cold to beat its way through her thick skull and snuff the smoky thoughts in her mind and the fire blazing through her veins.

"Damn, woman. I love it when you make sounds like that." The lock. She hadn't even thought about it. Blinking the running water from her eyes, she turned to look out the clear glass of the shower to see Youichi leaning against the wall across the room. His half smirk was at full strength, seductive and hungry. "What are you doing in there, fucking woman?"

"Trying to clear my head."

One brow arched and he pushed off the wall, his predatory gaze sliding over her body. Why wasn't she embarrassed by his obvious perusal? Not that there was anywhere to hide. The clear glass was more a display case than any kind of shelter from searching eyes. And yet, his eyes felt natural. Easy. Not at all the way she'd felt with other men, but then, she'd been working outside the norm from the word go that morning. She should really stop making the comparisons.

"Hmm. Clarity looks fucking good on you. Maybe I could use some too."

This time it was Mamori's mouth that tipped. _Definitely._ This guy needed to have the fire inside him doused. "You think?" Youichi's hands were on his half open fly, finishing the job she'd started down in the entryway. And then he was stepping out of his tuxedo pants, leaving them in a heap on the floor as he took a step towards the shower.

Mamori's mouth dropped open as she realized exactly what she'd been inviting. Was her brain ever going to work right around him, or at all, again? His hands moved to the black boxers straining atop the force of his erection. Those went next, and then he was completely, mouthwateringly naked. His body more beautiful than her fantasies could have imagined. He was closing the distance between them. Coming for her. Opening the glass door, his eyes blazing hot enough to make her body burn even under–

"What the fu–?" he barked out as he hopped into the far corner of the shower.

Mamori knew she probably shouldn't have laughed, but there was something decidedly satisfying in, for once, not being the one caught off guard. And the stunned confusion etched across the frozen mask of Youichi's face was simply too irresistible.

The rapidly thawing mask of confusion.

"You did that on purpose," he charged, maintaining his position beyond the stream of water. "You said you wanted the clarity," she answered, her body going alert as his focus narrowed on her breasts and then lower. They were both naked. Standing at opposite ends of the oversized stall. The second Youichi grabbed for her, she darted out the door, laughing. "Who was I to stop you?"

A deep growl sounded behind her as she reached for the plush warmth of the robe folded over the lip of the tub. Wrapping up, she turned back to the shower and froze. Hands flat against the wall above the tap, muscles flexed and straining, Youichi, braced beneath the spray as the cold beat over his body. Then with a shake of his head, he focused on her. Where she stood beyond the glass.

"I'll be honest, this doesn't work as well as I'd expected it to."

"My thoughts exactly," she answered, half mesmerized by the picture before her. "Mamori, I'm trying _really_ fucking hard to stay where I am right now, but if you don't walk out that door, I'm going to walk out of this one and put you against it."

Her mouth fell open.

First the couch. Now the door. It was as if he had seductive superpowers with his ability to infuse the most mundane household objects with deviant potential. "Or maybe that's what you're waiting for." The promise in his voice was what had her feet moving past the threshold, where she dared one glance back at Youichi, who stood watching her, his expression dark, smile spread wide across his face.

Youichi's palm hit the tile with a wet smack as the smile slid from his lips and he swore heavily.

Tempted as she was, she wouldn't take the risk. Grabbing the soap, he scoured his body with rough strokes, using the task to give himself the time he needed to work through his options. But damn it, none of them were going to give him what he wanted. Mamori coming home with him. Sure, he was fairly certain, even though it went against her general morals, if he offered Mamori no strings, he'd have her beneath him before the water dried from his body. But he didn't want a single night with her. He wasn't after the dog-and-pony show of dating either. Even with someone like Mamori, he didn't want to sink another year into a relationship lacking the authenticity of people who knew they were in it for more than a three or four hour window at a stretch.

He didn't want to see her at her best. Primped and prepared for some night of romance. He didn't want to be waiting for the _real _to start.

He wanted the _real _right now.

And he'd had it. Until it spilled through his fingers like a turnover in a football game. Now, no matter how he tried to show her what it had been like, tell her what he'd learned, make her feel the insanity of the connection between them… it wasn't the same. Wasn't enough. She was going to fly away tomorrow. And nothing he did was going to stop her. Jerking the tap off, he rubbed the water from his eyes and shook out his hair.

Then, wrapping a towel around his hips, he readied himself for the goodbye he was certain awaited on the other side of the door. Or more likely down in the living room. But definitely not on the couch. Enough fucking around. He swung the bathroom door open, determined to face the music like a man – and rooted to his spot, stunned by the sight of Mamori, swimming in her giant robe, feet tucked beneath her in the wingback at the far corner of the master suite.

"Okay," she said, nervously wringing her hands. "I'll be your wife."

Mamori was talking, but damned if he understood a word she said after _I'll be your wife_. In a heartbeat he crossed the room and had her in his arms. Her mouth was still moving when his crushed down, silencing the words he hadn't been able to follow. She could tell him later, when the adrenaline rush deafening him to everything but the roar of victory quieted inside his head. Until then, he would keep her mouth busy with something more productive than talk.

Hands splayed over his chest, she pulled back from him, laughing even as he tried to follow her retreat. "Wait," she pleaded, her hands moving from his chest to frame his jaw. "Wait, Youichi. We need to get a few things straight before we go any further."

Walking them back to the bed, he shook his head. "Later. Postnuptial agreement, whatever, we'll work it out. Tomorrow."

"No, that's not what–" Then, twisting her head around, she looked behind her. "No, Youichi. I'm serious. Not the bed–"

Only, he was already tipping Mamori back onto it. "I know you liked the door idea, but give the bed a chance. You won't be disappointed." And then his mouth was on hers again, his hand following the smooth line of her thigh to her bare hip. Hell, yes, she was arching into him, for him, moaning around the thrust of his tongue, clutching at his shoulders and then his hair. Opening wider to him and following the retreat of his tongue with the light flick of her own.

She was so sexy. She was _his. _

And he was going to taste every…single…inch of her tonight. His mouth was on her neck, his tongue sliding over the rapid beat of her pulse when Mamori's muffled curse, followed by an urgent wriggle and squirm, had him pulling back to meet her eyes.

"Damn it."

Her face screwed up into a knot of acute frustration, making Youichi pull back even more as, baffled, he watched her scoot from the bed. "_Now,_ Youichi. We need to talk now. Because I can't agree to everything. We need some ground rules."

"Ground rules." He didn't like the sound of that. "Such as?" tightening the belt on her robe, she shifted her weight and squinted at him. "No sex."

Youichi's teeth ground down as he drew a long breath through his nose. "You mean…tonight?"

But even as he asked, he knew the answer. "No. I'm talking about at all. Through the three trial months." Forcing himself to laugh instead of swear, he shook his head. "Forget it, Mamori. This is a real marriage we're trying, and sex is a healthy, normal part of it."

"It's too distracting," she protested. "I couldn't even think straight when you and I were–"her hand waved back and forth through the air between them "–on the bed. And I'm talking about changing the plans for the rest of my life. I _need _to be able to think." His brow furrowed. "You'll have plenty of time to think. How about I promise not to 'distract' you when we're discussing something important?"

"Yeah, I'm not sure your concession is going to be enough. When we're together…even just a kiss… Youichi, I can't think enough to tell you to stop when my future is on the line." Okay, grinning like a fool probably wasn't sending the right message, but damn, he liked what he was hearing. "You seem to manage it pretty well… and more than once."

"Barely!"

"Have I mentioned how happy I am you married me?"

"Youichi, I'm serious–"

"I'm serious too," he said, following her off the bed and taking her shoulders in his hands. "As far as getting pregnant goes, obviously we'll wait until you're confident this is the life you want. But sex? Not a chance. I'm going to seduce you, Mamori Anezaki."

"I'll say no," she whispered, her eyes already drifting to his mouth.

"Fair warning–" his thumb moved over to the pale pink line where her bottom lip became skin "–if you do, I'll stop." She nodded, closing her eyes when the motion caused him to stroke across that bit of sensitive flesh. So beautiful.

"I know you will."

Her eyes opened, and this time she looked him over from damp head to precariously situated towel to toe and back again, as though steeling herself against temptation. _This was his fucking wife! _The muscles in her throat moved up and down as she swallowed. Twice. Then those gorgeous blue pools blinked up at him, determination doing its damndest to put in a appearance.

"I can resist you."

Youichi gave in to the slow grin pushing at his lips. "You can try."


	11. Chapter 11

Just wanted to thank all those who have reviewed, followed, and or favored! :) really appreciate it!

Disclaimer: Do I really have to...? if I did HiruMamo would have happened at the end... one can wish I guess.

Okay last thing I kind of made a playlist for this. I'm not really a fan of song-fics, but listen to pandora when I write this and the songs just go with it, so if you guys wanna know what the songs are just let me know!

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Chapter 11

"Are you out of your ever-loving mind?!" Musashi demanded, his outrage reaching through the phone as clearly as if the man himself had crawled through the line to grab him and shake.

"Would you believe out of my mind, over the moon and totally in love?" Youichi asked, shouldering his carry-on as he left the airport newsstand.

"No." was Musashi's flat, less-than-amused reply. "Yeah, well, you're right." Sidestepping a couple locked in a passionate embrace, he scanned the gates and checked his watch. "I'm perfectly sane. Grounded, with my fucking feet planted firmly in reality, and married to a gorgeous, sexy, intelligent woman who happens to be everything I'm looking for in a wife."

"Wow, I didn't realize you were looking for a gold-digging brainwasher, Youichi, or I'd have pointed the throng of them throwing themselves at you for the last decade. Or better yet put an ad in the lovers section of the papers. What the hell happened? Did she drug you?"

Youichi's jaw tightened, his teeth grinding down. He knew what people would think. The conclusions they'd draw. And he told himself he didn't care. That neither of them would. Hell, Mamori wasn't afraid to just fly in the face of convention any more than he was. But just as at the wedding, that protective instinct had him ready to throw down over those disparaging comments.

"Not even close. In fact, one could accuse _me _of fucking drugging _her._" There she was. Back from the coffee bar, a tray loaded with a couple of roadies and a pastry bag in one hand, a laptop backpack hanging from the other. He slowed his steps, preferring to get this cleared up out of earshot. "…Youichi… what the hell are you talking about?"

"I let her drink too much and she ended up blacking out most of the night."

"Let me guess," came Musashi's dry reply. "She remembered the part about getting married, though."

"Sort of, but she didn't remember _why_ she'd thought it was such a great idea at the time. Took some effort on my part to remind her. Even now, she's still on the fence, but she's willing to give it a chance. We're on our way to Denver to pack her thinks."

"You're serious?'

He wasn't sure he'd ever hear Musashi's voice squeak that way, the sound of it pushing a smirk to his lips, and also to a file for later use. "As a heart attack. You'll have to take my word for it. Look, I _know _her, and I _like _her a hell of a lot." Then because he simply couldn't pass on the opportunity to goad an old friend when it was presented so nicely, he added, "Also… she's pregnant."

There was a pregnant pause on the other line, before, "WHAT! YOUICHI YOU COMPLETE IDIOT! HOW COULD YOU LET THAT HAPPEN?!" Musashi's outburst was meant with an uproar of cackling. "I hate you."

"You walked right into that one, but seriously, didn't you wonder how we could possibly know that already?"

"Shut up."

Musashi sighed. "Look I know I said to get back on the horse and all, but…" It was Youichi's turn to sigh. "Yeah, well, that's obviously what I'm doing."

"Does she know about Caro?"

"She does. I told her the first night." He cleared his throat and looked out over the tarmac. "Then again yesterday." He'd been damn lucky she asked him about any serious relationships during their refresher course in _Know Thy Mate. _Caroline had been the dead-last thing on his mind, and something told him it wouldn't exactly have fostered the trust they were building if he hadn't gotten that bit of information on the table. Even now, he realized there were details he should fill in. Specifics that didn't actually change anything, but – hell, Mamori's capitulation in giving this marriage a try had been a close call. Too close. He wasn't willing to risk some unfortunate chronology putting her off, at least not until they were on more solid ground.

"Can't believe you didn't introduce us yesterday. I want to meet this woman… now that I know she didn't drag you down the aisle at knifepoint," Musashi clarified. Youichi grinned and started walking again, the grin softening into a smile when Mamori turned his way. Her own too-wide smile doing too many things to him at once.

"Soon. For now, I'm just going to get her home."

"Good to hear it. But I need clarity on some things. Start at the beginning."

"About thirty seconds after you left the 'gymnast' showed up at the table, and the most unbelievable words come out of her mouth.

"The _'gymnast'_?"

Mamori met him halfway and, apparently having overheard the last bit, arched an amused brow. Leaning toward the phone, she piped in, "I'm not a gymnast." Youichi ducked and dropped a quick kiss to her temple, relishing the faint blush in her cheeks. "Only, she's not a gymnast…"

Mamori woke to the steady _thump, thump_ of Youichi's heart beneath her ear, the constant weight of his arm around her waist and the whirl of a mind anxious to put sleep behind it.

After two nonstop days in Denver, they'd packed the bulk of her apartment, leaving only the barest essentials. Laughter and fun like she hadn't known for what seemed like a lifetime had punctuated intense negotiations, strict limits and hard deadlines as a plan for the next three months came together. Sleeping arrangements, travel and social obligations, their respective professional commitments and myriad other details of this life they were embarking on had to be addressed. With so much to do, and so many decisions to make… it had been after midnight when Youichi finally carried her into his spacious San Diego home and about five minutes after that when they collapsed into bed.

Now Mamori was blinking the sleep from her eyes, a silly grin curving her lips as the phrase "Today is the first day of the rest of your life" came to mind. Squinting around the unfamiliar room, she located a clock at the far corner and winced at the realization _today_ was beginning at the ungodly hour of four.

Mamori made a stealthy escape from the bed and padded down the stairs, flipping on one light after another as she tried to familiarize herself with a house not yet home, searching for clues about the man she married along the way. What she discovered was an immaculately decorated showplace, where each room had a central piece of artwork around which everything else flowed. In a way she found this a big contrast to the clean lines and neat cut of his made-to-measure everything else. At least everything she had seen so far. But perhaps that had just been Vegas.

There was so much left to learn.

Her mother's parting words from their previous morning's conversation whispered to her. _"You're going to have to step up your game if you want to hang on to this one…" _

She shook her head. Some advice.

There was no game. There never had been.

She knew better, thanks to the lessons learned at her mother's knee.

Turning, her gaze caught on the floor-to-ceiling glass doors making up the southwest wall. The inky black of the early hours had faded to blue and the landscape around them had started to take shape. Palms stretched like dark cutouts against the morning sky and elusive streaks of white rushed the shores. Slowly she stepped forward, wanting to put her mother's words and the memories they spurred behind her. Lose herself in the beauty revealed by the approach of the rising sun. Only, the past had already taken hold. All the 'daddy's' who had walked through her life.

The great guys Mami Anezaki had been willing to do anything – _be anyone _– to keep hold of. The wild changes to her mother's personality and personal goals heralding the arrival of each new man. Mamori's own determination not to let this one get too close – no matter how devilish or fun he was – because it wouldn't last. It never lasted. The tug at her little girl's nerves once things started to slip. The sidelong looks, the downward pull of a mouth. The hope that maybe she was wrong. That maybe if she was good enough, if she tried hard enough, this one wouldn't leave.

But they all did.

Sato, Akio, Eiji, Hitoshi, Katsumi, Natsu, and Naoyuki. Seven husbands come and gone, and still her mom hadn't figured it out. A person couldn't _make_ something last if it wasn't meant to, like a person couldn't_ be_ someone they weren't.

Trying to only prolonged the inevitable.

Some were easier to let go. And some – she let out a heavy sigh as the memory of sun-crinkled eyes winking at her from across a worn dock squeezed her heart – the echoes of their absence were so deeply ingrained in her psyche they touched every relationship she ever attempted.

Her fingers trailed the wood frame of the sliders as a thread of anxious tension stitched through Mamori's belly. In spite of her determination not to, was she just repeating her mother's mistakes? She had married a man she had known for less than a day. A man who had been sold on the woman he met that first night – a night she couldn't remember – he was determined not to let her get away. Sure, Youichi thought he knew her, but what if he was wrong? What if she hadn't been herself and he was so caught up in the hard-won victory he was after that he simply hadn't realized it yet?

How long before he saw past the illusion of who he wanted her to be – and actually saw _her_?

Would it be within the span of this trial or would it be after she finally let herself believe–

"You're up early."

Mamori spun around to find Youichi watching her from the hall, a pair of light cotton gray pajama bottoms hanging dangerously low on his trim hips. The bare expanse of his cut chest was emphasized by the casual way he leaned one arm at the edge of the open frame doorway.

"So are you."

God, he was gorgeous with his mess of silky hair standing every which way, giving him a sort of roguish look to match the smile, eyes and personality. "My bed got lonely," he offered with a fanged smirk that did something crazy to her insides and reminded her of how impossible it was not to get caught up in this man's convictions when they were together.

He believed in them. Was so ready to take that headlong dive into their future. Made it seem so simple.

_Just jump._

When he looked at her the way he was right then, it made her want to jump too. Made her want everything he was offering, but wanting something didn't necessarily mean it was right. She had to keep her head.

"Lonely."

He grinned. "Yeah, well, I also figured you might like tour of your new home. Some coffee perhaps?" she involuntarily moaned. "Coffee, yes, please."

Mamori's smile slipped from her lips as he approached, his face serious, his eyes dark and hooded. "You keep making sounds like that coffee won't be the only thing on the table for breakfast." Her eyes widened at the implication. And unfortunately her imagination was at it again. _Great now the breakfast table can join the ever growing list of objects to never look at the same. Right next to couch and door._

"My ego demands the next time you make that noise it won't be because of coffee. Come on." He said as if he hadn't just put erotic thoughts of the two of them in her mind. She mentally cursed him for it. With a sigh she followed him.

In the kitchen, she rifled through the freezer as Youichi got the pot brewing. She had a sneaking suspicion that was the only thing he could 'cook'. And as if he read her mind said, "I'm not much of a cook, in case I didn't mention it before."

Youichi closed in behind her, one arm reaching past to swing the freezer shut. Her heart skipped a beat and her belly fluttered. "Youichi," she warned, taking a step in retreat. "Heh. Relax fucking wife," he caught her hips and backed her to the neat square kitchen table, then popped her up to sit atop. _Uh-oh._ "All I'm after is my previously agreed upon good-morning kiss."

Their compromise on physical intimacy. It had been a point of contention between them, with Mamori determined not to let seduction sway her thinking about the marriage, and Youichi wanting – well, everything. In the end, neither of them had been interested in the kind of precedent three months of strictly platonic set – trial or not. So they'd settled on a daily kiss count of four, with good-morning, have-a-good-day, welcome-home and good-night kisses to be granted at the corresponding times.

Four. She could totally handle four kisses from him.

Her body warmed at the knowledge it was time to pay the piper. Parting her knees, he stepped between them. Leaned in close. Closer. And closer still until he'd braced one hand on the hardwood behind her and wrapped the other around her waist, leaving Mamori no choice but to cling to his shoulders.

"One kiss, Youichi," she whispered, already feeling drugged by the sleepy bedroom scent of him. "One kiss. Any damn way I want to take it." Breathless, she stared up into his eyes. "And you want it on the breakfast table."

Letting out a low growl, Youichi ran the bridge of his nose along the line of her jaw to below her ear. "Damn it." He sighed "I'll settle for just the kiss if it's all you're ready to give me."

"Just the kiss." She tried to keep the pleading quality from her tone, but she wanted to be reminded of the chemistry. The magic. What this was leading to if everything worked out. Or maybe all she wanted was Youichi's mouth on hers again.

That cocky smirk cranked another notch, Youichi's lids dropping slumberously low. "We'll see." And then she had it. The first soft rub of his lips against hers. The gentle, coaxing hint of the hot demand to come.

God, she wanted, needed this to last.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"No sex?" Musashi coughed through the line. Hands tightening on the wheel, knuckles going white, Youichi hadn't missed the undertones of amusement, no matter how his friend tried to cover it. Glad someone thought it was funny.

"Yeah, I can't fucking believe it either. But Mamori…" He took a slow breath, glancing out over the cliffs down to the ocean beyond before retuning his attention to the road in front of him. He was so sure he had her with the daily makeout quota, because when they kissed – he hands squeezed the wheel again – they _really_ kissed. But true to her word, Mamori held strong. "She doesn't want her judgment clouded while she figures things out."

"Right. I get it. Blow-your-mind bedroom antics have a tendency to confuse priorities. Give meaning to the meaningless. Make things seem 'special' when really they aren't. Smart girl."

Youichi ground down his molars, not exactly sure what response he wanted from Musashi…but certain it wasn't this. "So aside from the fact that your fresh-from-the-chapel wife finds you totally resistible, how's the _rest _of married life treating you?"

"Good. No surprises." Not really, anyway. "Mamori's more reserved than she fucking came across the first night. And she's somewhat preoccupied with making sure I fucking know what I'm getting into. You know, listing faults in the name of full disclosure because she doesn't want to fucking risk me stumbling over some deal breaker once she's committed." After a few seconds' pause, the joking tone was gone. "Deal breakers?"

"Relax," Youichi assured. "Minor stuff. Quirks mostly." After all, he couldn't care less if she had a tendency to go overboard when she picked up a new hobby. But he sure as hell cared whether the woman he married was going to be straight with him. And every time they were together, she showed him she was. Even so, he wanted her confidence back. The faith she put in herself and him when she spoke her vows. But every time she revealed some other fault, waiting a beat to see how he handled the news, whether it would shake him, he was reminded how that faith had been wrung out of her like a fucking bar rag. Didn't matter. She would see soon enough. And until then… well, he really couldn't complain. She was strong. Smart. She knew how to protect herself.

"She makes me laugh. And she's exceptionally easy to be with. Easy to talk to." Easy to look at and easy to think about. Maybe even a little too easy on that last account. Mamori was a challenge. And though he had gotten her to give their marriage a chance, he knew she wasn't sold. Which meant she was an unfinished project. A deal hovering on the brink of closure. Damn it, she was an itch yet to be scratched. An incomplete pass. He wanted her, and until he knew she was securely his, she would be occupying more of his mind than he would typically allot to a relationship.

"Well, I'm glad you found a woman you can talk to. I know you always figured on a marriage that was more of a merger. And after Caro–"

"Look, I'm about home." Youichi slowed at the driveway, waiting for the security gate and garage to open. "Time to wear down my fucking wifey."

"Got it." Musashi chuckled, not taking the abrupt end to the conversation personally. If he had something to say, he'd make sure he got to say it, now or later. "And good luck… sounds like you're gonna need it."

Youichi cut the call and jumped out the car, a slow grin spreading across his face as his mind latched on to the last sight he had of his fucking wife before he left for work this morning. He knew she wouldn't look like the sexy vixen she'd been, practically purring under the kiss he'd pressed against her lips before she'd been quite awake. Sleep mussed and warm. The pajamas she was wearing shaping over her nipples and riding high towards her ribs.

Small wonder she'd been on his mind the past eleven hours.

She would probably be dressed by now. Maybe all neat and fucking tidy. Still, he couldn't quite kick the salacious happenings taking place in the not-so-far-back of his mind. Silky, sleep-mussed happenings wrapped up in a welcome-home, I've-been-aching-for-you-all-day kind of kiss.

Yeah, fat fucking chance.

Closing the door behind him, he called down the hall with a facetious "Honey I'm home." The silence echoed back to him as he dropped his keys on the glass table and kept walking towards the stairs. The second floor was dark and empty, with only a single dim bulb illuminated at the top of the flight. The third floor too. His brow arched as he checked his phone for messages. None. It wasn't as if returning to an empty house was a new experience for him, but with Mamori living here, he expected… something different. But that he was disappointed. He wanted an independent woman who wouldn't make him annoy him or make him feel guilty about his schedule he kept or as if her life was tied to his.

_Wish granted!_

Only walking through the empty house that had never felt lonely to him before, he had to concede a week into their marriage that he hadn't anticipated getting his wish would suck quite this way. Midway down the darkened hall, Youichi paused, just outside Mamori's office door. A sliver of light leaked through the seam, and from within came the quiet yet distinct sound of keys tapping. She was here. Turning the knob, Youichi opened the door to Mamori's sanctuary… and discovered his pajama-clad morning fantasy staring hard at the monitor as her fingers assaulted the keyboard in front of her.

The sexiness of her sleep-rumpled look had faded mildly during the day, and yet Youichi couldn't take his eyes off her. She was intense, focused. And bobbing her head ever so slightly to the beat of whatever she had pumping into her ears through those blue earbuds.

Never in a million years would he have expected to come home to a scene like this if he had married Caro. She would have been polished and primped. Attentive in the distant way he'd become so familiar with. Making small talk, much as they did with strangers through a cocktail party. And he never really knew – in all honesty, would have never really cared – where her head was at. Not like this, he thought with a bemused smile. Right now, he knew exactly where Mamori's head was. Deep in her work. The project she'd been waiting on must finally have come in. standing unnoticed in the doorway, he considered his alternatives. He could walk across the room and take advantage of her distraction. Pull her copper mess to the side and start with her neck, close his mouth over the spectacularly sensitive spot behind her ear and work his way forward from there…

Or he could go order some dinner – because based on what he was seeing, he'd bet food hadn't even crossed her mind. And when he took his kiss… he wanted Mamori paying attention. Running a hand over the back of his neck, he turned away.

"Youichi?" her voice was overloud and she was staring at him, looking fucking adorably confused. He tapped his ear and she pulled the bud from her own. "Hey beautiful. How was your day?" He meant the compliment, but Mamori seemed to take it tongue and cheek – her face blanching as her hands went to her hair and then those pajamas that told more secrets than they kept. Only, then the most interesting thing happened. That flash of embarrassment faded and something that looked a lot like challenge took its place. "I get caught up in my work… I lose track. It can be irritating for some people." Ah, more with the disclosures. Whatever it took. "You near a good stopping point if I ask the chef to whip something up?" he asked, sensing the time to wrap things up would put her in a better place to break for the night. It was how it would be with him.

"You wouldn't mind?" her eyes shot back to his, infinitely softer than they had been only seconds before. "I better not – tables'll be turned soon enough." No question. "I'll order and grab a quick shower. Meet me downstairs when you're ready."

At her slight frown, Youichi stopped. "Something wrong?"

"You don't want your kiss?"

"Oh, I want it," he assured, giving in to the grin hovering around his lips. "But not until I've got your undivided attention. So wrap it up."

The door closed and Mamori stared at her computer, relieved by Youichi's easy acceptance of her distraction and yet unable to shake the doubts. The sense that if it wasn't this that opened Youichi's eyes to a future he didn't want, then it would be something else. Eventually. She didn't want to think that way. There was so much _right_ between them, and yet, a part of her couldn't buy in. a part of her saw the clam mask Youichi wore when she showed him something he, by all rights, ought to dislike – and wondered what lay hidden beneath. Sure, getting tied up with work this evening wasn't such a big deal. But it didn't seem to matter what she said or did. As if no bad habit or personal shortcoming even registered. As if maybe Youichi was so determined to prove how perfectly suited for this marriage they were that he would turn a blind eye to anything that didn't fit… Until one day he wouldn't be able to do it anymore.

What happened then?

God, she wanted to believe. But with so much at stake, she needed Youichi to acknowledge more than some illusion of perfection. She needed to know he was really seeing her.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"She made you what?" Musashi choked through the phone. Youichi shook his head at Mamori's latest attempt to confront him with a reality she expected him to reject. _Her latest failed attempt._

"Creamed tuna on mashed potatoes. With peas." Canned, boxed and frozen. He knew because she left the containers in plain view on the counter. "Apparently it's one of those old family favorites she just has to have once in a while."

"No. Way."

The last time he heard that kind of tone in Musashi's voice, the man had just watched a supermodel bungee off the Verzasca dam in Ticino, Switzerland, tossing him a wink and a blown kiss before taking air. "Damn, she's serious about shaking you." Youichi bristled, reining in the growl currently threatening his cool. "If she's so serious she ought to come up with something more substantial than fucking dinner. Like I'm going to bolt because she served me less than five-star cuisine."

It was an insult to both of them.

"You actually ate that slop?"

"Of course not, gave it to the damn dog when she wasn't looking." He scoffed. "Though because she made it for me, I did taste it…." Then with a chuckle, he added, "but I have to admit that gelatinous puddle – _which even Mamori didn't eat,_ by the way – was without question the worst thing I've ever had the displeasure of tasting."

"_Damn…." _

Half an hour later, thoughts of tests and frustrations had been put aside. Youichi strode into the kitchen, working his collar open, stare locked on the delectable curve of Mamori's backside, showcased in a pair of clingy sweatpants as she – fuck – checked what looked like Yakitori in the oven.

Again… FUCK….

At least it wouldn't be a food poisoning test this time….

"Oi, fucking wife," he said, announcing his presence a second before sliding his hands over the curve of her hips. With his hands coasting over her hips and waist, she swung the steel door closed and started to turn as he said, "I need my welco– what the fuck! Youichi's head jerked back as he was hit with the double play touchdown of Mamori's smiling face covered in some kind of bottom-of-the-vegetable-drawer-looking half dry paste… and the accompanying rotting stink of it.

"Your kiss?" she laughed, patting him gently on the chest and then casting him a mischievous wink as she stepped out of his hold. Tricky little minx, so it was a scare-the-shit-out-of-him test this play. "Sorry to surprise you with the swamp-thing mask, but I do one weekly," she offered with a little shrug. "Weekly." Fuck! He couldn't even imagine coming face-to-face with this odor on a regular basis. Daring a closer look, he leaned in and ran his finger along on tacky cheek. "What the fuck does it even do?" Mamori shrugged. "Um… well, it tightens your pores. And removes impurities. Keeps the skin looking smoother. Younger. More healthy."

Hmm. Half the time he was with her she wasn't wearing any makeup, and she was _beautiful._ Her skin flawless.

"Interesting." Then waving his hand in front of his face, he asked, "So what other fucking beauty secrets should I be looking out for?" he'd never asked any other woman he'd dated about their mysterious feminine rituals, but then, he'd never been curious (or cautious) before. And of course, he'd never been this close and personal to one either. Arms crossed, she gave him a scrutinizing look. After a beat, "Waxing."

"Really." His gaze drifted down the line of her body, curiosity on the rise about every potentially smooth, bare strip of skin. This time it was Mamori circling a hand around her face, her all challenging smile gone full tilt. "Really." Confusion first. Then understanding. His chin snapped back. "Really?" Mamori arched a delicate brow at him. "Why, it doesn't bother you. Does it?" tempted as he was to say yes, just so that she would try to 'turn him off', he thought otherwise when he noticed that there was more than amusement in her eyes. There was that same steely glint in her eyes, it screamed challenge, it screamed give me a reason. His good humor and amused intrigue shut down. _More fucking tests._ Three weeks and he hadn't proved a damn thing to her. Hadn't made the slightest headway in easing her concerns. And it was starting to chafe. Pull and rub against the seams of who he was – to the point where something had to give.

But not him.

"I know what you're trying to do, Mamori."

She stared at him a beat. Bracing.

Good idea. She was going to need it, because he had a point to make.

He started towards her, letting his mind peel away the layers of defense she erected. The mask, the tests, until the only thing he saw was the woman who'd stared up at him that first night. "I know what I want, Mamori." She backed against the counter, the breath rushing past her lips in a way that called to his most primitive self. "And it you think the threat of some fucked up mask it or not-quite-so-sexy waxing ritual is going to keep me from getting it…" He stroked the shell of her ear, tucked a few wayward strands behind as he took the caress down the line of her neck. He leaned farther into her space and let the edge back into his voice. "…you've got another thing coming." Wide eyes within a flaking mask of putrid green held his.

Ready not only to meet her challenge, but raise hers as well – Youichi closed in, breathing solely through his mouth. "I'll have my kiss now."

Okay, that hadn't gone the way she intended. Not by a long shot. Breathless and trembling with unfulfilled desire, T-shirt bunched around one elbow, Mamori stared down at herself draped across the polished granite of the center island in utter disbelief as Youichi coolly strode out of the kitchen.

_Whistling to himself! Cocky Bastard!_

As though he'd claimed some kind of victory instead of crawling off this countertop himself, covered in disgusting flecks of algae mask, his tailored shirt missing half its buttons and the tent in his suit pants threatening irreparable damage to his fly.

Cocky Bastard indeed. But, she would resist him!

Granted, it had taken her a while to come to her senses. And possibly only then because in the midst of that tempest of passion, she opened her eyes to catch her green-faced reflection in the gleaming metal of a countertop bowl. But still, after a few breathless attempts, she managed his name. And a few minutes later, she even unhooked her ankles from the small of his back and said no.

Like she meant it. Sort of.

Youichi had delivered one last soul-searing kiss and then… dismounted.

_Whistling._

Pffft. So this revolting mask – that even she could barely stand but used religiously because, despite the smell, nothing worked like it – wasn't enough to throw Youichi off his game. In truth, she hadn't really expected it to be. The man she married was no lightweight. He was goal driven. Unafraid of confrontation, hard work or the pungent scent of swamp.

Mamori swallowed hard. She wanted him. But every time she found herself confronted with his unflappable, easy confidence – his smooth sell and I-don't-back-down stare – she couldn't stop the thoughts slithering through her mind. He held too much sway, made all the right promises and left her feeling more vulnerable than she ever had before. Youichi wouldn't acknowledge anything out of line with his goal. He wouldn't respond in any believable way. Which terrified her. Because by refusing to acknowledge who_ she_ _really was_, and crumbing his every response, he was actually preventing her from seeing _the real him_, as well. But she couldn't make herself walk away. Because for every too-easily-dismissed fault, there were a hundred instances of sincerity. Moments too pure, too intense, to be anything but genuine. God, she really had to be careful.

Mamori couldn't believe it had come to this.

She knew which brand of coffee Youichi preferred, and how he took it. Black. Strait. And that wasn't even the worst of it – she _cared_ how he liked it. And worse yet she had been to about four different stores to look for it! The other three either didn't sell it or were out. All this just so she could be the one to hand him a mug in the morning, watch it ease past his lips and down his throat as his Adams-apple bobbed.

Oh, this was bad. This was very bad.

And totally embarrassing, now that she stopped to think about it. It was just coffee for crying out loud! Feeling suddenly conspicuous, she glanced down the aisle half expecting to find a crowd of snickering onlookers taking bets on which brand she'd opt for, only, instead her focus caught on a head of short salt- and-pepper strands topping a face she hadn't seen in the two decades that had weathered it. Her breath leaked out of her in a thin, chilled wisp.

"Hitoshi."

She blinked, stepping forward before she even thought to curb the impulse. It couldn't be him. In all the years, it was never actually him. But this time…. She could swear it was.

Heart pounding, she felt a bubble of laughter rising in her chest. Did she hug him? Shake his hand? Tell him that even now she could feel the way she missed him all those years ago. He had to live around here. Though, the way he loved to travel, maybe he was just passing through. Either way, she was already reaching for him when he said, "Hey, sprout, whadiya think about chocolate with peanut butter and marshmallows?"

She stopped, too confused to make sense of the words she was hearing. Only, then he glanced over at her and let out a bark of surprised laughter as he took a quick step back. "Oh, heck, pardon me, young lady. For a minute I thought you were my daughter." His eyes crinkled around the edges. "Serves me right, not looking at who I'm talking to." Just then a heavily pregnant woman rounded the corner rubbing her belly with one hand as she scanned her grocery list. "No marshmallows, dad, but I'm good with the peanut butter." Hitoshi gave her a nod and reached into the case to grab another carton. He dropped it into his cart and then looked back at Mamori expectantly. Because she was staring. And he had no idea who she was.

Of course he didn't. Though he looked so much the same it hurt to see him, she had only been a little girl the last time he saw her. "Hitoshi, I'm Mamori Anezaki. I mean I was Mamori Anezaki. I sort of got married, so it's Mamori Hiruma now." Heat burned through her cheeks as she realized how much it pleased her to be able to tell him that she got married. To think that she might be able to introduce him to Youichi. They'd get along. She knew they would. It hadn't really struck her until just that second, but there were actually a number of similarities between them. Only, then her racing thoughts ground to a halt and all that excited energy died as the furrow between Hitoshi's eyes dug deep.

"Mamori… _Anezaki_?" he glanced over his shoulder at his daughter, standing a few feet off wearing a pleasant smile on her face, and then snapped his fingers, looking back at Mamori. "From the bank over on first?"


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: Don't own.

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Chapter 14

He'd been looking for a fight, that much Youichi could admit. Pulling around the corner to the house, he felt the gathering tension through his back and neck, the same kind of jacked pulse he got before walking into a major negotiation. The fact that his system was ramping for conflict in anticipation of seeing his fucking wife only made it worse. There hadn't been any new 'tests', but the emotional distance, the guarded looks and speculation when she thought he wasn't looking – and hell, sometimes even when she knew he was – had only increased. Something was coming.

Only, then he'd pulled through the security gate and seen the open garage, Mamori's car parked and her still in the driver's seat. A quiet alarm began to sound in the back of his mind as he cut the engine and jumped out. All that jacked-up ready to go morphed into protective instinct.

_This wasn't right._

Rounding the car, he came up to her window and stopped short at the sight of tear streaked cheeks and a bleak stare. And for the first time since they met, he saw something other than how strong Mamori was. Beneath all that toughness was something fragile. Something she didn't show to the world but here and now she couldn't hide from him. His gut knotted hard as the first question slammed through his head. _Had he done this to her? Pushed her too far? Asked too much? Broken her? _

Heart pounding, he forced himself to knock on the glass instead of ripping the door off its hinges, her eyes darted around the interior of the car before landing on him. The arms that had been hanging limply in her lap jerked up, and then she was wiping at her cheeks, mumbling some kind of unintelligible apology as she emerged from her daze. Resting a staying hand on her shoulder, Youichi crouched beside her seat, searching for clues in a face his fucking wife was rapidly trying to clear. Only, with each swipe another tear slipped free.

"Mamori, what's going on?" she sucked in a shaky breath, swallowed and then bowed her head. "It's so stupid. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be like this. I just… saw someone I used to know." Youichi's muscles bunched. It wasn't him, then, making her cry – and the relief he felt over that was immense. But it was nothing compared to the rage pouring through him that someone else had done this to his fucking wife. Someone she used to know. "Bud?" the fucking idiot who'd run off and married another woman when he was making plans with Mamori. The one he believed wasn't important enough to merit this kind of sorrow. Did the guy have some kind of hold over her heart Youichi hadn't realized? Was he in California to get her back?

She shook her head, valiantly trying to force a smile to lips that couldn't bear the weight of it. "No. his name is Hitoshi. And for about a year, a very long time ago, he was my dad."

Her dad.

Youichi was at a loss. He knew Mamori had been raised by her mother, a serial bride who didn't have much of a track record when it came to keeping husbands. Mamori never talked about any of the guys her mother had married, and he'd gotten the sense they hadn't been particularly important in her life. Only, now he was wondering just exactly how off base he'd been.

"What happened?"

"He didn't even remember me." Mamori winced and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she was blinking fast. Giving her head one of those thought-jarring shakes. As though she was physically trying to throw off the emotion. She wanted to be strong. And hell, he admired her for it. But as the tears continued to fall, the heartbreak in her eyes was unmistakable. He'd seen that kind of pain before. Knew the kind of soul deep wound it stemmed from. Feared it.

The kind where a person's whole heart was tied up in the hope of something they understood they couldn't have. The kind another person couldn't fix or fill or make up for… could only hope they were strong enough to withstand. _She is strong._

Youichi took a breath. "I'm sorry, Mamori."

"It was so long ago. I don't know how I expected he would remember me, but I was practically ready to throw my arms around–" Her voice broke, and she glanced away. Damn. Mamori looked so lost and vulnerable, he couldn't stand it. Needed to do something. Ground her in some way. Taking her hand, he stroked a thumb over her knuckles. "Let's get the fuck inside."

She nodded and he stepped back, helping her from the car. Her eys shifted toward the house, and he half expected her to simply draw herself up and walk away. Retreat to a place he couldn't reach her. Only, then she closed her eyes and _turned into him_, pressing her face against the center of his chest, so there was nothing to do but wrap his arms around her trembling shoulders and hold her close. Stare down in disbelief as Mamori clung to him. Pulling her in closer, he laid his cheek against the silky strands at the top of her head and stroked a hand over her back. "It's okay. I've got you," he promised, rocked by the depth of meaning behind his words. He wanted to protect her in a way he had never experienced before. And that she wanted his protection and comfort – could accept it – was profoundly satisfying. "I told him my name and he couldn't place it. I mentioned my mom and the connection clicked. But it was… just awkward.

Youichi ushered Mamori inside and up to their room where they lay in bed together with her head resting in the crook of his arm. They spoke in hushed tones, watching the shadows fill in around them as the light faded and the quiet of the night replaced the cacophony of day.

"They were all good guys," Mamori whispered in response to the question he'd just asked, her breath warming the spot above his heart still damp from her tears. "That was the thing. Mom never picked jerks we could only hope would take off sooner rather than later. They were all nice men we hoped would stay, even though deep down I knew they wouldn't."

"There were seven?"

"Seven she married."

Which meant there were more she hadn't.

He couldn't imagine what it would be like for a little girl to have a revolving door of father figures passing through her life that way, or how her mother could have let it go on. But he knew all about women who couldn't control their hearts – even for the sake of their children. Even for the sake of themselves. At least Mamori's mother had been resilient enough to bounce back. Move on.

"When she brought Hitoshi home, I barely even spoke to him. It was terrible, but I think it had only been a couple of months since the one before left, and I didn't want to – care, I guess. Only, Hitoshi was sort of relentless. He wanted to win me over – do everything to make this new family work. So he told jokes and stories. Took me fishing. Talked to me and actually listened to what I said. He made me feel… special. Like I was more than just the kid who came with the woman he married. Like I was his friend too. Thinking back on it now, though, I wonder if maybe it wasn't more a case of me being the perfect project for finding common ground with a wife whom he otherwise didn't share much."

Youichi tightened his hold around Mamori's body. "When he left though it would be… different. I thought he might stop back so he could say goodbye to me. Maybe call to tell me he missed me or that he was sorry he had to go. But he didn't and I figured it was because of my mom's rule about severing ties. Still, he said he loved me, so I kept waiting and hoping. And maybe I never stopped, because when I saw him this afternoon, I was – God! I feel like such an idiot."

"No." he said firmly. "It's not you, Mamori." That she even thought so – Youichi already mentally blackmailing this Hitoshi and Mamori's mother both for what they'd put her through. For not recognizing the impact their careless actions would have. The guy told Mamori he loved her. He made her believe it and then walked away. A little girl whose tender heart had already been bruised time and again. And worst of it – the part that in no small way he owed Mami Anezaki and this string of faithless men a debt of gratitude. If their repeated abuse hadn't broken her ability to trust in love enough to surrender to it, this woman never would have settled for this partnership he had to offer her. She would have found someone years ago to love her the way she deserved and they'd be married with half a dozen kids in tow.

He might not be able to give her a storybook romance with love everlasting and all that shit, but he would make sure she had everything else. He'd be constant. The man she could count on. They'd get past this trial, and time would show her.

Mamori woke up on a gasp, her eyes flying wide as she jolted upright. She scanned the empty bed and room around her. Tried to get a hold on the reality that was now, even as the nightmare she'd been fleeing pressed her mind.

_She had been running, lost in the kind of fog only the dreamworld could conjure. Searching for Youichi, knowing it was a mistake, but unable to stop herself. _

_And then he was there. His arms warm around her, his hushed cursing a confusing comfort at her ear_

_She looked up to ask what he was saying, and it was Hitoshi's face speaking with Youichi's voice. "Don't worry, I'm going to win you over."_

_Desperately she looked around and, again finding Youichi across the void, called out to him._

_He smiled, the lines at the corners of mouth etched deeper as she watched. "Do I know you?"_

Throwing back the covers, she pushed the nightmare away. Told herself it was just her head processing the mess yesterday had bee. Except instead of settling down, the panic she experienced in her sleep was on the rise. She needed to find Youichi. Needed to–

"So, you're awake."

She spun towards the door where he'd come to stop with that same casual arm slung up around the top of the frame. Jeans and a soft T-shirt tempted her with hints of the powerful body hidden beneath. But it was the ever-elusive half smile that held her, making her feel the coming loss deep in the center of her chest. She swallowed, watching as Youichi's easy posture went straight and the smile slid away with all the warmth that had been in his eyes. His voice was hard when he spoke. "No."

"Youichi, I'm sorry." Wringing her hands, she took a tentative step in his direction. "I can't do this."

"Bullshit." He fired back, the spark of temper igniting his rage so completely it was as though the tinder had been set, waiting in place. "You're just going to give up."

"That's not true, nor is it fair Youichi. I have. I've been trying for a month. But it's no use. I'm not settling into a life I feel like I can keep. I don't–" She broke off, shifting her gaze from the accusation in his. God, she didn't want him looking at her like that… she didn't want to deserve it. "You don't _what_, Mamori? If this is it, then let's just fucking own it all. Say it!" fist balling at her sides, she fought back the pain rising in her chest and did as he asked. "I don't trust you."

"Of course not. I've been honest, up-front and straightforward with you from the word go." Youichi pushed off the wall, raking a savage hand through his hair. "Yeah, I wouldn't fucking trust me either." Mamori watched in despair as he stormed from one end of the room to the other and back, his rage blasting her like gale force winds. "It's not you," she swore. "It's me." Shooting her a condemning look, he let out a harsh laugh. "Is that so? Not a single fucking thing I could do, huh?"

"No." He had already done too much. Been too perfect. Too perfect to believe he was real. Youichi crossed his arms and stared down at her. "You never wanted to be fucking convinced. From the start you've been looking for any fucking excuse you can find to justify walking away before you had to risk… anything." He mouth dropped open. It wasn't true. She just– she–

She was suddenly angry. Really angry. At herself. At Youichi. At Hitoshi and her mother and every event that had brought her to this horrible moment. "How am I supposed to risk everything on someone who isn't real!?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You don't get frustrated. No matter what I throw at you, no matter what I say, it's like all you're focused on is the goal at the finish line. Secure the 'fucking wife' and nothing else matters. I never see anything but your unflappable calm and easy charm. You're so _reasonable_. Always with the _rational_ approach. The _perfect_ solution to any problem. And it's impossible to believe, because _no one_ is that perfect, Youichi. That's why I can't trust you. That's why I have to leave!"

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so i think i'll just add this anyway, but you don't have to read/listen/look at the list if your not interested. but for those of you who are, look away! more will probably get added later.

Playlist for WUM

1\. Earned it – the weekend (fifty shades of grey)

2\. That girl – Justin Timberlake

3\. The way you look tonight – Maroon 5

4\. Waiting for superman – Daughtry

5\. Harder to breath – Maroon 5 (ch.8)

6\. My selfish heart – Meghan Trainor (maybe)

7\. Like I'm gonna lose you – Meghan Trainor

8\. Love me like you do – Ellie Goulding (fifty shades of grey)

9\. What if I – Meghan Trainor


	15. Chapter 15

I'm really sorry, I totally meant to have this up two days ago, but got sidetracked! Again really sorry!

Disclaimer: Nu-uh I don't own

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Chapter 15

Youichi stared down at his fucking wife, absorbing this final revelation. He'd been vowing to give her everything he had, but… _nothing will be enough._ He thought there couldn't be anything worse than the helpless sense of failure and inadequacy that marked the first thirteen years of his life. When no good grade, lost tooth or scored touchdown was enough to push the heartbreak from his mother's eyes – not when every milestone achieved was simply a reminder of the man who was missing them all. When Youichi's dependence – his very existence – hadn't weighed heavily enough to compete with the bottle of sleeping pills she'd taken to end the pain. But now, to realize he simply exchanged one fucking woman with a hurt he couldn't touch for another with doubt he couldn't overcome… _Damn it_, what was he doing? What kind of messed-up psychosis kept him coming back to this impossible place – when he spent his entire adult life actively working to avoid it?

He should let her go.

Except then he thought about the desolate look in Mamori's eyes the night before. That instant when he was sure she would turn away… but instead had clung to him and cried against his chest. Took his comfort. His strength. And woke up the next morning ready to run. To hell with this. "You want to see a reaction, Mamori? You want something real?" he stalked slowly towards her, letting the anger pulse off him in waves. "I'm fucking pissed. Only, I sure as hell didn't get this way because my fucking wife took the time to cook me a dinner. In fact, it's not any of the trivial shit you've been shoving at me. Because – truth? – on the scale of significance, that doesn't even register. What has me pushed past the fucking boiling point…. What really has me, really _upset_ is learning the woman I thought was so incredibly strong I married her on the spot… is actually a fucking _quitter_ who runs away from a challenge, a_ coward_ too afraid to even try, a _liar_ who makes promises she won't keep and a _cynic_ too bitter to believe what's right in front of her face. Is that real enough for you?"

Mamori's lips parted on a gasp, her eyes blinking time and again, as though she couldn't quite believe what she'd just seen. What he'd said. Then, barely a whisper, "You're wrong."

Youichi shook his head, wishing he where. "I don't think so. But I'll tell you what I am… pissed as hell. _At you._ Right now. More pissed than I've ever been at a woman I was in a relationship with. But – and this is the important part, baby, so listen up – _I'm not the one ready to leave._ I'm the one trying to get you angry enough to fight back. To throw down your fucking gloves, get in my face and prove me wrong. I want you to stay because what we could have is worth fighting for. And if this too–" grabbing her shoulders, he pulled her into a hard, searing kiss. It was too brief. Didn't satisfy more than the most base claim. And when he pulled back, ire still surging hot through his veins, he met Mamori's eyes, daring her next response.

She stared up at him through air thick with tension, her expression stunned, hands resting at his chest and abdomen. "You really _are_ angry."

"Incensed," he assured, not just trying to sweet talk her, but meaning it completely. "And you still want me." Her fingers closed around the fabric of his T-shirt. "Us." Her pupils shot wide and the breath trembling past her lips whispered of unfulfilled desire. "This." Heat licked across the space between them, burning away his restraint until there was nothing left but the single soul-deep truth that had been at the heart of it from the start. "Beyond reason or rationale."

And then there was only the hard press of one body against the next. Mamori's mouth opened beneath the crush of his own. Her hands grappling to get higher, to wind tight in his hair, as he flattened her against the wall, hoisting her legs around his hips. This was the kiss from that first night. This was the reality shattering, blood burning, hungry demand for more that had him ready to walk over coals to get it.

_This is the woman he married._

Then, without breaking the contact of their lips, Mamori told him what he'd wanted to hear. "I'm not a coward and I'm not a liar." The sweet taste of her claim rushed over his tongue, and he returned it with his own guttural demand. "Prove it." Another kiss and this time her tongue rubbed against his, soft and wet and so damn eager it stroked their desire to fever pitch. Mamori's restless hands stole down his back, grasping at the cotton of his shirt and tugging it high as Youichi braced her against the wall, reaching overhead fast to the bunched fabric and jerking it off. Swooping in to the kiss he couldn't get enough of, Youichi stopped at the barrier of Mamori's delicate fingers between their lips.

Pulling them free so only that scant half inch remained, she spoke again. "I'm not a quitter." He caught the back of her head with his palm and held her still to search those beautiful blue eyes. "Then stay, Mamori. Stay and give us the chance we deserve." Mamori's arms linked tight around his neck. "I'm sorry," she whispered urgently against his ear. "You were right about what I've been doing. Focusing on what could go wrong instead of appreciating what's right. I thought if I showed you the worst of who I was–" she broke off, shaking her head before looking back at him imploringly. "I've been trying to play it smart, but all I've been is stupid and scared."

His hands moved to her waist, holding her tight as though she weren't already holding him. As though he couldn't quite believe… she was actually fighting for them. "Tell me what you want." His voice low and husky, sending pleasurable shivers up and down her spine. He could give it to her. Whatever she needed. Anything. Her eyes, so wide and honest and deep, searched his and then darkened as they dropped to his mouth, lingered there for one agonizing beat. Her answer was a single heady and breathless whisper.

"You."

Mamori's head fell to the side as Youichi devoured her neck, his mouth moving over her with carnal intensity he'd shielded her from through every previous encounter they'd shared. All this time she was so sure he was giving it his all in his seductions, when in truth he'd been the one holding back. This… she never would have been able to resist. Standing in her panties at the edge of the bed, Youichi wearing only those sexy boxers that made her mouth water, she trembled at the feel of her palms sliding over the terrain of his bare chest. The hard ridges of his abdomen ticking tight beneath her fingertips. His body was so perfect she didn't know where to touch first, what to taste.

_All of him._

That was what she wanted.

What she needed.

"I'm going to make love to you, Mamori." His palms coasted over the lines of her body, leaving a path of warm friction sensitized in their wake. "With my hands…" God, his touch was so good. "…with my mouth…" His lips closed over the sensitive hollow at her collarbone, the gentle suction making her groan and squirm.

"Please."

"…with my body…"

And then he was guiding her to the bed, his broad chest meeting hers I one teasing kiss of flesh before he held himself above her. His mouth blazing a trail of heat and need from her neck down to her breast. "So fucking beautiful, Mamori," he murmured, his lips brushing back and forth over the straining bud of her nipple before circling it with the firm point of his tongue and then licking, slowly, lower.

Over her ribs.

Around the small well of her navel.

Across the slight jut of her hip bone.

And then along the scalloped edge of her panties.

All the while she watched, held rapt by the vision of this gorgeous man indulging in his free rein over her body.

His hands coasted over her hips, knees, calves, touching her reverently as though in truth he meant to cover every inch of skin. Fingers sliding around her ankles and then back up, it wasn't until he reached her knees she realized the strategic shift of his arms from the outside of her legs to the inside, and even as she watched, he was coxing her knees father apart, opening her to him as he dropped kisses down the lacy V as the center of her panties, teasing her through the fabric with the warm wash of his breath… the press of his kiss. "Oh, God, Youichi," she moaned at the firm stroke of his tongue over the silky panel covering her. Running his lips back and forth across the dampness of her panties, he groaned. "I fuckin love it when you say my name right." She gave in to a breathless laugh at his words, but then lost hold of the thought at the next wet stroke of his tongue.

A needy ache was building low in her belly, a tension without limit. Fingers moving into the strands of his hair, she tried to urge him upward. "I want–" catching her wrists, he guided them back to their previous position above her. Holding her there for a beat that said _stay_ more clearly than the voiced words ever would have. Youichi's fingers curled around her panties to peel them from her hips and slip them off her legs. His eyes, dark with hunger and glinting with determination, were mesmerizing as they met hers.

"I'm going to kiss you like this, Mamori… the way I've wanted to from the start. Long and slow and so fucking deep…" he said, the sensual threat of his wicked half smile doing things even his touch hadn't accomplished. Then, with a look so devilish she shivered, he added, "And French."

"Youichi!" she gasped at the first wet velvet rub of his tongue. But the only reply was another hot lick. Her hands flew to his hair, his shoulders, the bed beside her hips, grasping and desperate beneath the most exquisite openmouthed kiss she'd ever experienced. It was thorough. Spectacular. Her body was on fire around the slow thrusts, the curling licks and languorous strokes of his tongues. Then he was touching her at the same time. Circling his thumb at her opening and then slowly, firmly pressing inside as his kiss concentrated on the throbbing center of her need. "Oh, God!" she cried out at the feel of him both inside her body and out. It had been so long since she had a man's attention this way, but never had it been like this.

Need coiled low in her belly, each deliberate thrust of Youichi's thumb intensifying the sensation until her hips were rising to meet him. Her pleasure cresting. Her breath broke into ragged pants. She was almost there. Sinking her teeth into the swell of her bottom lip to keep from screaming, Mamori gripped the bedspread beneath her. "Let go, Mamori. I want to hear you." Another deliberate lick through the center of her, this one spiraling around that point of need so primed she didn't know if she could bear the exquisite pleasure the contact brought her. Cries of need and desperation ripped past her lips, echoed around the walls of the room and rained down over them. Letting go with Youichi like this was too good, too intense. So much more than she knew was possible.

The pressure building within her touched every cell in her body, rubbed against the confines of her form and pushed steadily at the places she never expected it to reach. Places she thought far deeper, more tender and too forbidden for any man to find. Places she hadn't even known existed herself. Her head thrashed, the sounds escaping her little more than incoherent pleas. And then Youichi closed his lips around that singular spot and gently sucked. Starburst exploded behind her eyes and she shattered. Her mind went blank and her body spasmed hard around and beneath Youichi's touch as her thighs gripped his shoulders through wave after wave of release.

As Mamori came down from her high Youichi took the opportunity to crawl his way up her body, he could feel a heat sizzle through him as he staring into her half lidded eyes, then she was pulling him down to her by the back of his neck initiating an almost shy kiss. Her lips barely grazed his mouth. He nudged his mouth against her upper lip, silently asking for entrance. And she willingly complied. His erection hardened and he drew in a deep breath, forcing all arguments and 'tests' out of his mind, focusing on how soft and chaste her opening lips felt against his. Her breath was sweet and Youichi angled her just enough to get her lips to blossom fully beneath his urging. She moaned softly as he fully took her, deepening their connection. He nearly lost it then, her trust implicit with him. Using his tongue, he slowly moved it from one delicious corner of her mouth to the other. Instantly, he felt Mamori stiffen but the sexy sound in her throat told him everything he needed to know.

She liked it.

Emboldened, Youichi moved his tongue gently against hers, inviting her to respond, to play with him. Mamori's own wove a sliding, sensuous dance with his. She pressed herself against him, wanting, needing more contact with him. It was her fingers digging frantically into his bunched shoulders that told Youichi she was fully committed to this. Youichi broke the kiss and watched her eyes barely open. He saw lust in them and smirked. "So fucking beautiful and strong." He whispered against her lips and Mamori couldn't help the blush that crept up her neck and cheeks. His hands slid up and down her thighs, caressing, teasing. Her hair spread out like a copper halo around the pillow, emphasizing her large blue eyes. Eyes that burned with arousal.

Gathering her into his arms, he groaned at the feel of her breast pressed against his chest, he could feel how hard her nipples were. He wanted to taste. Dipping his head down that's exactly what he did, he captured one nipple between his lips and suckled. Hearing Mamori cry out, feeling her hands gripping his hair told him just how sensitive this part of her body was. He filed it away for future reference.

It was endless. Satisfaction like she'd never known. Sliding his hand under her to lift and reposition her at the center of the bed. A moment later he'd rolled on a condom. Then, poised at her opening, he shifted his hips, penetrating her with the thick head of his erection. Gasping at the first shallow thrust stretching her wide, she clutched at his powerful upper arms. Loving like she'd never had. And yet it wasn't enough. Her body, so sated with pleasure, continued to ache. Everything inside her pulling toward the man who defied all logic.

He felt so good.

Youichi rocked back, then eased forward again, setting a rhythm that took him incrementally deeper with each stroke until finally he was buried to the hilt within her, joining them as completely as two bodies could be. Reaching out, she cupped his hard jaw as he leaned over her. Youichi took Mamori's lips once more, his tongue sliding inside her mouth, reveling in the delicious taste of her. His hands slid up her arms until he could interlace their fingers, gripping tight as he continued to build up the speed and strength of his thrust.

Looking down into her eyes, he vowed, "No more holding back. Neither of us. I want it all." So full she could barely breath, she gasped the single word echoing through her heart, "Anything." His mouth descended on hers, searching her with a hot kiss before breaking away. "Everything, Mamori."

Mamori opened her eyes to the sight of one large masculine hand engulfing her smaller one, both tucked close to her face. Hard muscle and powerful strength warmed her back and tangled with her limbs as steady breaths caressed the bare skin of her shoulder. It was heaven. And she'd almost thrown it away. The heavy arm thrown over her side tightened, alerting her that Youichi was awake. Turning to face him, she was struck by the intimacy of their heads sharing a single pillow as the late morning sun spilled across the bed. Looking into the too-symmetrical perfection of her husband's face, she asked, "Are you still mad at me?" Youichi rolled onto his back, but kept his face turned to her so she saw when his smirk tipped the balance. "No. I'm not much of a grudge holder. If you really want to know, this is the first time I've ever fought with a woman."

"Ever?' she asked, not quite sure what to make of that. "Are you that easygoing?" he swallowed and looked up to the ceiling. "Yes and no." then, looking back to her, he clarified. "It's true that little stuff doesn't bother me much. I mean, there are things to get fucking upset about and things that just don't matter so much. But before you… I was never invested in a relationship like this."

"Is that what's different about us?"

"Yeah, you fucking ruined me so now you have to keep me." He said with a cheeky grin before sobering. "So, how about you, Mamori – still scared?" this time it was Mamori who looked to the ceiling. "Yes." There was a pregnant pause as he waited for her to hopefully finish. "But you're worth the risk." He grinned as he pulled her hand up so it rested on his chest, Youichi played with her ring a moment, the look on his face telling her there was more on his mind. Something that perhaps wasn't so easy to say. He frowned and his focus on her ring intensified, as though looking at it was somehow an anchor against his thoughts. Then, after a moment, he cleared his throat. "I get it. What scares you about this. Us. Me. You don't want to end up putting your faith in a guy like your mom married – who's going to make you fucking promises and the walk away. You don't want to _let_ yourself get hurt that way again. And the fact that you're trusting me – Mamori, I swear, I'm not going to hurt you."

"I know," she whispered, sensing Youichi's growing tension, but unsure what was driving it. "Youichi, what's going on?' he cleared his throat again and then turned to face her. Those dark blue-green eyes, achingly open to her. "I want you to know that I understand where you're coming from because I know how it feels to be left behind. To fucking let yourself need someone and have them leave." There was a long pause while Mamori wondered if he was going to say more. In the end she couldn't bear it any longer. "Why, Youichi?"

"I think… I think I've told you about my mother," he started. Mamori's heart began to thump. "She died when you were young." A nod. "What I didn't tell you… what I don't tell… anyone is that she took her own life." Mamori sat up in bed, tucking her knees beneath her as her hand flattened against Youichi's heart. "Oh, Youichi. I'm so, so sorry." Grabbing her hand, he gave her an appreciative nod and pulled her back down against his chest. "Thanks, fucking wifey. She'd been unhappy for a long time. And eventually, it was too much for her."

"But you were only thirteen!" Her stomach knotted. Suddenly, so many pieces fell into place. Youichi's bond with Musashi. His resentment toward a man who didn't deserve the title _father. _Why he understood how difficult it was for her to trust. There were a lot of ways a person could be left. And her husband had firsthand experience with one of the worst. "I've had a long time to fucking deal, and like I said, I don't like talking about it. But you're putting your faith in me. Trusting me. And you deserve to know that I understand what that means."

Throat tight, she nodded against his chest. He was talking about her trusting him, but in that moment, all Mamori could see was the trust Youichi had trust put in her.

She was going to be worthy of it.

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Ok, so I don't normally write sweet/romantic/couples first time with each other smut, mine are usually established relationships or virgins, so... let me know good, bad, in between, don't care, whatever your opinion i'll take the feedback.


	16. Chapter 16

Okay, so here's chapter 16 I hope you enjoy! also shout out to Cilvanti, who has reviewed almost every ch. I think... Thank you!

Disclaimer: Not in this lifetime... -_-

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Chapter 16

The hot spray of the shower blasted his face as, hands against the marble wall, Youichi tried to pry his thoughts from under the duvet and the sexy little nymph he left buried beneath it. Five was too early to wake her with the kind of kiss on his mind. Especially since _she had woken him_ around two with a custom version of her own.

God help him, she was incredible.

Even better, _insatiable._

And the level of compatibility between them – undiluted by vanilla vodka and unfettered by the doubts Mamori had finally found her way around this past week – was off the charts. Beyond expectation. He knew she was smart. Had been impressed by her ability to intelligently discuss nearly any topic to come up, add her own unique perspective, find humor in related connections. But now that she had relaxed into the trial, she'd truly opened up… and that brain of hers fucking blew his mind. Mamori made him want more than he'd imagined he could with a wife. And because of who she was – how she was – he could relax and enjoy… without worrying about leading her on.

Because his sweet, sharp, fucking smoking hot wife had the very same limitations he did. Neither one of them fell in love. Like neither one of them wanted anything more than exactly what they had. Okay, that wasn't quite true. Youichi wanted more. He wanted this trial behind them and any lingering doubts that kept Mamori from putting it there assuaged. He wanted her pregnant.

At the idea alone, he groaned. Mamori growing big and round with his baby. So damn hot. Okay, the DNA portion of this merger and acquisition had to wait, but the rest… Water streamed down his face, he shot a look toward the room they shared. She _had_ woken him first. In his book, turnabout was fair play. His hand was already on the knob for the tap, when he remembered Mamori had to work today. Like he had work today.

One of them should get more than three hours of sleep… eventually. Wisps of cool air slipped through the steam an instant before Mamori's slender arms wrapped around his waist, and her breast, warm and hard-tipped, pillowed against his back. "Good morning, Mr. Hiruma," she murmured, pausing for a decadent little lick over his spine. "Thought you could sneak out without my good morning kiss?" he turned, taking her in his arms so the water would reach her, as well. She was sleep ruffled, sexy and soft. Her bare, wet skin a temptation he wondered if he'd ever be able to resist. "Not a fucking chance." Sinking into a slow, deep kiss, his body hardened and his mind blanked of anything beyond all the creative ways he could get her to say his name in the next hour. Work could wait.

"One night in Vegas? And you knew?" came the delighted question from Riko Kumabukuro-Yamaoka, her bright eyes darting eagerly from Mamori to Youichi and back again. Nearly six weeks into a marriage based, at least in part, on Youichi's desire to have a fundraiser-ready wife on hand to balance the social against his business, and this intimate dinner squeezed in before Youichi's trip to Ontario and her looming deadline was their first night out with another couple. Kenta and Riko Yamaoka. Both in their late thirties, early forties and both treating Youichi and Mamori more like family than a longtime business associate with a deal to pitch and his tagalong wife.

Mamori opened her mouth to answer, happy to share the sanitized version of their meeting – as it had been told to her, anyway – when Youichi beat her to the punch, a goofy grin hanging on his one-sided smile. Something Mamori found both distracting and surprising, as she had never really seen anything other than his cunning devilish smiles or smirks.

"Neither one of us was looking for romance, but we ended up talking, and talking some more. One thing led to another and… well, here we are." Youichi leaned in, his arm stretched across the back of Mamori's chair in the kind of comfortably possessive posture that sent butterflies skirting around her stomach. "Kenta can tell you, when an opportunity as spectacular as this one presents itself, I'm not one to risk losing it. I wasn't letting Mamori out of my sight until I'd secured a date for the rest of our lives."

Riko's hand fluttered to her chest as she sighed over the romance of it all. Kenta exchanged a good humored look with Youichi, muttering something about getting the point loud and clear, and promising to have a look at the numbers Youichi was sending over to him the next day. The dinner continued for another few hours, the conversation easy and entertaining. Mamori could tell Youichi respected the older man and truly enjoyed his company. The laughter around their table was rich and warm, and by the end of the evening, she felt as though she had two new friends. Friends she hoped to keep for a lifetime, because a lifetime was what she was looking at with Youichi. What she wanted. What she was thanking he lucky stars for granting her the second chance to have. Letting down her defenses had been one of the most difficult things she'd ever done. But forced to see what her fears were making of her – she had to try. And once Youichi had teased that trust from the tight hold of her fist… handing it over had been incredible. A heady, addictive thing. A release she never allowed herself to truly experience before.

And she felt… free.

Safe.

As if maybe fairy tales came in varieties she hadn't known existed. And this one was hers. As the men collected their coats, Riko took Mamori's hands in her own, squeezing warmly. "I can't tell you how thrilled we are Youichi found you. He had such a rough start with that father of his. He's earned the happiness you two obviously share."

"Thank you, Riko." The older woman shook her head, a little crease forming between her eyes. "To think how close you came to missing each other." Mamori's head cocked to the side. They'd agreed not to share the part of their 'love story' where she'd woken up without a memory and tried to leave, so she didn't know exactly what Riko was referring to. "Because of the short window of opportunity in Vegas?" the smile at Riko's lips faltered, her gaze shifting to Youichi and back. It was only the smallest slip, really, before a wide, reassuring and yet somewhat less sincere smile replaced it. "Of course."

Pulling her in for a hug, Riko whispered, "I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. You're special." This time it was Mamori's brow furrowing, her mind churning over that instant of hesitation and the words that were setting off quiet alarms in the back of her mind. As Riko released her, Mamori opened her mouth to ask… and then stopped. She was being paranoid. _Cynical_, looking for nonexistent problems behind words that shouldn't have been anything but the most beautiful reassurance. So instead she replied with a heartfelt truth.

"He makes me feel that way."

And then Kenta was wrapping Riko in her coat, and goodbyes, well-wishes and promises for another dinner were filling the space around them and the night out was at its end. Only, one look at Youichi, at the half smile she had no trouble reading at all, and she knew – for them – the night was just beginning.

Youichi kicked the hotel door closed and, toed off his shoes, dropped into unwelcoming cushions of the couch with a groan. It was official. Mamori had spoiled him completely. He'd gotten hooked on the wind-down of their nightly conversations. On the company of a woman whose mind kept him guessing and eager for more. And now, for the first time in as long as business travel had been a part of his life, he was keenly aware of what he was missing at home.

It fucking sucked.

Yeah, he still got off on the negotiations, bouts of hardball and the pursuit of his goals. But here at the end of the day… something was missing.

Eyes glued to the monitor in front of her, Mamori tried to focus on her last line of code. Only, something inside her balked, grinding a mental heel into the ground of her concentration. She needed a break. Some food. The rattle and clink of coins spilling from a slot machine – Youichi's latest text tone – had her lips curving and the lethargy weighing her down evaporating into thin air.

YOUICHI: You up?

Delighted – even at 11:37 p.m. – she responded.

MAMORI: Yeah. How did your meeting go?

She missed him like crazy. No matter how much she told herself to rein it in, she hadn't been able to. And now–

The front bell sounded. Was he back? Here to surprise her? She sped downstairs, hoping to find Youichi waiting. Only, as she reached the first floor, her phone rang again. Answering, she swung the door open and felt her heart flip in her chest. "Oh, my god, I love you," she gasped, blinking back tears. The delivery guy nodded. "I get that a lot, actually." Cackling, through the line Youichi asked, "You two need a fucking moment alone, or are you ready for dinner?"

Twenty minutes and a half a sausage and mushroom thin crust later, Mamori was curled into the living room couch, phone to her ear as she watched the flames flicker in the gas fireplace. She could hear the rustle of fabric through the phone, the weary groan – and more than anything, she wished she was there. "I'm glad you called."

"I've gotten kind of used to catching up at the end of the night." He hesitated a beat. "I like it." Mamori closed her eyes, snuggling into the sound of Youichi's voice. "Yeah, I do too."

"So, this fucking marriage thing…. It's working out for you?" a smile played at the corner of her lips. "Yes, Youichi. You've proven yourself to be quite the provider."

"Ya-Ha." He said in a hushed, but still excited voice. Mamori giggled. "Good" Mamori's eyes were open wide then, something in her clicking. "It's working out for me. Like you said it would." Her voice quieted. "Even better, maybe." A part of her expected some kind of cocky response. But instead, a long breath sounded from across the miles. "For me too."


	17. Chapter 17

So big shout out to creamberriess! :) thanks for all the support! some of them made me lol and ppl looked at me funny in the coffee shop...

disclaimer: Don't I wish

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Chapter 17

"I already told you, it's a fucking done deal." Youichi spun his chair away from his desk, letting his gaze run the familiar lines of downtown San Diego from his top floor corner office. "Yeah?" Musashi asked a little skeptically. "The trial's over? You guys starting production on Youichi 2.0?" he nodded. "Hopefully when I get home." Hell, if he could he'd have her right here right now, based on the way Mamori had lured him back to bed this morning. Twice.

Fortunately his first meeting hadn't been until ten, because nothing would have kept him from taking delivery of the fucking hot promises in his fucking wife's eyes when he'd leaned over the bed to kiss her goodbye and she took hold of his lapels and tugged him down on top of her. Or after he showered and came back to find she slipped into his suit shirt, buttoning only two buttons and leaving the rest to lay open, just barely covering any breast. Her game of dress up had cost him a good hour…. Damn woman… he thought with a satisfied grin. "That's what I hear. Amazed you kept the lid on it as long as you did, but these last couple weeks – I can't go anywhere without somebody's wife bringing up your marriage."

Youichi's eyes narrowed, tension winding up the base of his skull. "And?"

"And there's all the usual speculation you'd expect under the circumstances. Caro. The quick turn between. But then the people who've actually been out with you – Lewis', Oberman's, Yamaoka's – they're telling people it's the real thing. They've never seen you this way."

"_Me?"_

"Apparently you're in love. Everyone can see it. Brings a tear to my eye." Pushing a short laugh past the uncomfortable knot in his throat, he deflected, "You're fucking watching _Steel Magnolias _again aren't you?"

"Always with the sarcasm."

Ignoring his best/oldest friend. "Stop by after knitting club some night and I'll explain." Musashi let out an amused snort. "Just for that, I'm learning. And someone's going to have a very special Christmas coming up." This time Youichi cackled, because it was entirely possible he was going to find some handcrafted atrocity in his house this year. "Look fucking old man, I'm not denying there's something incredible between us. But neither the fucking wife nor I are under the misconception it's love. Everyone else? Hell people see what they fucking want to and make assumptions based on what they expect. I'd rather they assume we're in love than suggest something less flattering."

"I get it. And look, I was just curious if something had changed."

"Hell no," he clarified in no uncertain terms. "That total annihilation of boundaries isn't a game I'm into. Mamori and I have a deal, and love isn't a part of it. Period." Even if he took his parents out of the equation, Youichi had seen it too many times before with his friends, with his business associates. Love changed things. Expectations. Relationships stopped working within the framework they were established, and suddenly everything turned fluid – became a constantly changing playing field based on emotions that had come off the chain. There was no more reason. Just a vulnerability that – best case – was mutual. "Relax, fucking wife and I both know the score. I made sure up front. You know I wouldn't let her get hurt." Then with a mischievous smirk, threw in, "So go find your own fucking wife and stop worrying about mine." Without missing a beat Musashi replied "Yeah, but who says it's _your wife_ I'm worried about."

Another night of champagne toasts and charitable endeavors behind them, Mamori stood before the mirror in her dressing room, trying to wrestle the clasp on the sapphire necklace Youichi had given her the night before. The stones, warm from her skin, winked and glittered beneath the lights, begging her to leave them on. Her hands fell away from the clasp as Youichi stepped into view behind her. His hands smoothed outward over the terrain of her shoulders, then, following the cut of the back of her dress, met again at her spine where he unhooked the top catch. Working the zipper down the length of her back, he dropped a kiss atop one bare shoulder and then moved to the other side to do the same. "So…. I was thinking about our honeymoon."

The stiff fabric of her midnight gown fell forward, gaping in the kind of provocative way Mamori had never associated with herself, until now. "What about it?" she asked, trying to concentrate on what Youichi was saying, though all she seemed to register was the play of his thumbs over her newly exposed skin. His hands slid over her waist between the loose fabric of her dress and skimmed around the front. Wide palms and strong fingers explored her hips and belly before smoothing back up to capture her breasts in his palms. "I was thinking I ought to take you on a real one." A gentle suction pulled at the skin behind her ear as his words pulled at the tender place inside her. "You don't remember our wedding. I want to give you a fucking honeymoon to remember."

_A memory to keep._

Hot emotion rose fast from the well she'd thought gry, pushing itself past her lips in a gasp and her eyes in a flutter of salty drops she blinked away as quickly as they came. Turning in Youichi's arms, she caught his face between her palms and kissed him. Felt her dress pool to the floor as his hands molded to her bottom, pulling her close and lifting her until they aligned in all the right places. Her legs wound at his waist as Youichi carried her to the bedroom, his mouth making devilish work of the skin across her chest, along her neck and behind her ears. His tongue making promises his body would soon deliver. How could it be like this with him? How had she ever lived without him? She pushed the questions aside, knowing she wouldn't ever have to again.

Youichi wasn't going to leave her. He wasn't going to change his mind. He made a commitment to her different from any of the promises she'd heard in the past. He'd shown her what kind of man he was. Made sure she understood what his word meant. She knew, with him in her life, she finally had someone to count on. She could let go of all the defenses and anxieties with him.

She could trust him. With everything she had. For as long as they both should live. An echo of those words whispered through her mind as her back met the soft resistance of their bed. Youichi's flushed face and suspiciously disheveled hair – almost as if someone had spent a good amount of time working their fingers through it – flashed through her mind. The look in his eyes… it was like nothing she'd seen before. It was relief and awe and humor and victory and desire all there for her to see. All there, focused on her. As he said the words _for as long as we both shall live…_

Not a fantasy. Not her imagination.

_Memory._

Reality.

A night she thought lost to her forever. There in his eyes had been the answer to a riddle she struggled to solve. An answer she found her way to through a different path, but now… God, the way he looked at her. The confidence she felt looking back at him… It was the kind of confidence that lasted forever. It was why she'd been able to make a decision in one night, which had taken her nearly two months to come to after.

"I don't need a honeymoon," she whispered, her fingers sifting through the silk of his hair as Youichi worked down the line of her body. "Sure you do." His tongue flicked at the hollow of her navel, briefly blanking her mind of anything beyond the wet, teasing contact. "Turks and Caicos, Tahiti, Venice, Niagara Falls?" He kissed lower, carefully catching the edge of her lacy panties between his teeth before slipping his fingers beneath and gently sweeping them down her hips and off her legs. The playful glint in Youichi's eyes was gone as he stood at the foot of the bed, staring down at her where she lay, waiting for him. She was bare of everything except the exquisite necklaces at her throat and the matching slender heels at her feet. Propped up on elbows, she gave in to the wicked impulse to tease. Sliding one knee against the other as she watched him work the buttons of his shirt with a determination she'd never witnessed before. He made it to the forth button when she straightened her leg and, using the heel of left heel, caught the leather strap of his belt and tugged. His eyes, a dark blaze, flickered to meet hers just as she sank her teeth into the swell of her bottom lip. For an instant, everything came to a stop. "You're a fucking fantasy, Mamori."

And then the rest of the buttons came loose in a quick series of pops as he ripped the shirt open. Wide shoulders jerked free from between the lapels of the now ruined shirt. The belt was gone next and then Youichi was on the bed, crawling up her body even as his hand slid under her and pulled her down to meet him.

Youichi had to have her.

His fucking wife didn't flaunt it for everyone to see – luckily – but she was the fucking sexiest thing he had ever laid eyes on. If he had an ounce more patience, he would have gotten the damn pants off before he'd gotten on top of her. Only, the business with the belt and the lip biting about did him in. he needed contact. Now. Needed to feel those heels at his back and the soft cradle of her thighs around him. He needed the wet sanctuary of her mouth and the sharp tug of her fingers in his hair. Again he pulled her against him, rocking into the sweet spot between her legs. Torturing himself with the layers remaining between them because he couldn't make himself break away from the too necessary contact. Only then, Mamori snaked her hands in to work his zipper – a look of utter concentration in her eyes as she caught the waist of his tux pants and boxers with her heels and pushed them down his body.

When she got them as far as she could, he kicked them free and met her eyes. "Impressive." The smile on her face was priceless, as if she had accomplished the greatest feat imaginable… or the most critical task at least… by divesting him of his pants – hands free. The pink tip of her tongue wet her bottom lip as she held his gaze. "It's a talent." She stated breathlessly. "So it fucking is." The smile curving his lips might have seemed out of place in the midst of this kind of sexual urgency, except fun always seemed to find a place when they were together.

Mamori's eyes went to his mouth and then her fingertips drifted to the same place, feathering softly over his lips. "Beautiful." Women had been complimenting his looks for most of his adult life, but never had such a simple statement had such a profound effect. Looking down into her eyes, he wanted to get lost in them. Surprised that he hadn't had to fight off thousands of men in Vegas to get to her himself. And then he realized. This look he wanted to lose himself in forever… it was for him. Only for him. He needed to be inside her. Needed it the way he needed his next breath. More, even.

Pushing to his knees, he leaned over toward the nightstand beside the bed and reached for the drawer – only to have Mamori's hand follow the line of his arm and wrap around his wrist, urging him to stop. His eyes went back to hers. His brow raised he asked, "Condoms?"

"Wait." Holding his gaze, her palm drifted down his chest, stilling over his heart. "Just you, Youichi. Nothing between us." She swallowed, took a slow breath. "I don't need any more time to decide. To know." Youichi blinked. This was it. What he'd been waiting for. She was his. Finally. She was… _crying_? The hot surge of satisfaction beating its way through his veins froze as he stared at the still-shimmering smudge beneath her eye. The single glittering bead of betraying emotion caught in the dark points of her lashes. Lashes framing those beautiful, trusting eyes that were staring up at him with – with so damn much– "Mamori," he croaked, then muttered a curse, closing his eyes when the pliant, sexy body beneath him went tense. No. No, it wasn't love. She'd told him herself that she didn't fall in love. Neither of them did.

What he was seeing was affection. The affection he'd been working for, cultivating from day one with the intent of securing her commitment. Only suddenly seeing it shining up at him from those trusting eyes, as his fucking wife offered him the very thing he'd been striving for, granting him the unfettered access to her body that would cement them together forever – he recognized it for what it was.

_Too much._

She wasn't supposed to look at him like that. As if she was entrusting him with a piece of her soul. Making herself vulnerable in a way he couldn't abide. "I thought you wanted this," she said, all breathless pleasure of only moments ago replaced with uncertainty, hurt and confusion. "I do. I do… only…" damn it, he couldn't believe he was going to say this. Couldn't believe he had to. Forcing a cackle he didn't feel, he burrowed his face against the soft shell of her ear. "You've been drinking champagne tonight… and after what happened with the wedding… I think we ought to make our most important decisions over some fucking coffee."

"But–"

"Shhh." Catching the slender arms that had sought to stop him scant moments ago, Youichi pushed them above Mamori's head and held her wrists in the loose clasp of one hand as he reached for the nightstand drawer. A moment later, he was buried inside the tight sheath of Mamori's body… working to convince them both to forget about the barriers – both physical and emotional – he put between them.

* * *

1\. Love on the rocks – Sara Bareilles

2\. Numbers – The Cab

3\. Dear future husband – Meghan Trainor

4\. On Top of The World – Imagine Dragons (maybe)

5\. Marry you – Bruno Mars

6\. Breath – Greg Maroney

7\. Gotta get me some – Nickelback

8\. Not in that way – Sam Smith

9\. Say something – great big world (audio)

Animal – Neon Tree

11 Ordinary Human – One Republic


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Though Youichi had made a playground of her body, pleasuring her time and again until she didn't have the strength to do more than melt into the warmth of his body – as the minutes drifted by with the night shadows, the hours with the darkness, sleep didn't come. She'd offered him what he'd been asking for. What he said he wanted. She'd offered him _her_. Their future. And he'd turned her down. _No._ it wasn't rejection. That was what she came to through those sleepless hours. It was protection. Youichi failed her the night they married, and he wouldn't risk letting her make a decision as monumental as this if there was any chance her judgment might be impaired.

It wasn't rejection at all. It was a good thing. It was further evidence of the kind of man she married. A smile curved her lips as she heard his rapid descent down the stairs. There were definitely worse things than having a man committed to her well-being.

Checking her reflection in the microwave door, she pushed a few wayward strands of hair behind her ear, then smoothed her hands over her abdomen, desperate to calm the butterflies within. With the coffee carafe in hand, she stepped over to the intimate nook and poured two mugs. A second later, Youichi rounded the corner, immaculately dressed. He flashed her a smirk and grabbed a piece of toast from the plate she set. "Thanks fucking wife, I'm running late." Before she could do more than open her mouth, he dropped a kiss on her cheek and threw back half the coffee. Taking the mug with him, he paused at the doorway, his eyes flickering to the carafe in her hands and the half-eaten toast in his. Youichi met her eyes and she saw the recognition there. The heart that had been too stunned to beat suddenly picked up, warming the chill within her chest. "Toast and coffee," she offered with a small smile. Youichi set down his mug at the counter, his expression reserved. "Mamori…. Look, I'm fucking glad you're committed to this. And I want it. I do." Except he didn't. She could see it in the lines of his face. Hear it in the strain in his voice. Feel it in the sinking pit within her belly.

"I don't understand." The words had passed her lips, pleading and broken before she had the chance to consider them. Hold them back in an effort to protect her pride. "It sounds like you're telling me no. like–" like all the fear and worry she reasoned herself out of the night before had been more justified than she allowed herself to believe.

Youichi crossed to her, taking her shoulders in his hands. "I want it. But… the more I consider the fucking situation, the more important I believe it is you take the full term of the trial to decide."

She searched his eyes, refusing to give in to the tears stinging her own. "You were so certain before. You didn't have a single doubt."

"For myself, I don't, Mamori. But for you – hell. I know how well you'll fucking fit into my life. I'm not entirely sure you've had enough opportunity to see how I'll fit into yours." She shook her head. "How can you say that? I've had two months–"

"The first one didn't count. Take two more." He dropped a kiss on her forehead and then set her back, changing the subject as though they'd been talking about the weather. "I've got fucking meetings late tonight and first thing tomorrow, so don't wait up. I'll probably crash at the office."

And then he was gone.

Youichi's fist clenched, his knuckles turning white atop the dark mahogany of his office desk as the image of Mamori's stricken face once again flooded his consciousness. Damn it, he knew better. But he had been so hell-bent on convincing her to commit, to see he was the man she wanted, he had in essence become a man he wasn't. and those tears – that overflowing well of emotion in her eyes – were all the evidence he needed to know the whole married trial had gotten out of hand. A quick knock sounded a moment before his secretary's head popped past his office door, nervous as usual. "Umm excuse m-me, Mr. Hiruma," she managed out quietly. "But the conference call with Zurich is starting in five minutes. D-did you need me to send those files…?" she let the words trail off rather than actually saying what they both knew. Those files hadn't been worked on and they had been promised to the fucking dread in half an hour.

Fuck. This wasn't who he was. He needed to get his head on straight. He needed to get some perspective. And he needed to make sure the man he was giving Mamori was the man she'd be spending the rest of her life with. He was confident she would still want the marriage. Even after a readjustment in expectations, there was no way her plan could compete with his. But first things first. The office. That was how it had always been. How it always would be. "Karin, push the fucking meeting back a half hour. I'll get you the files in twenty." He really needed to get his focus back where it belonged.

The front door sounded with the muffled thud Mamori had been pretending not to listen for since the previous morning. Youichi had told her he wasn't coming home, but a part of her had been hoping.

Waiting.

Trying not to think of all the sleepless nights she'd spent as a little girl, weighing every creak and groan, listening for a return that wouldn't come. Because despite Youichi's abrupt change of heart regarding moving forward with their marriage, she knew he was coming back. He wasn't walking away. He wasn't leaving her. This wasn't the same kind of blindside. Startling, yes, but not devastating. He was looking out for her. Taking the extra time to ensure they didn't face the same doubts that had been a part of their first month together.

And now Youichi was home. Back. Hanging his coat in the closet and dropping his keys on the table, offering the same greeting he did every night. "Fucking wife." With a fanged smirk.

Relief surged through her as she closed the distance between them, offering the kiss that had become a part of their routine from nearly the first. Everything was fine. Nothing had changed. She wanted to bury her head in the front of Youichi's shirt, press her forehead against the hollow at the center of his chest and give in to the emotion threatening to overwhelm her. She wanted his arms around her, his reassurance hot against her ear. She wanted all his sensible reason, soothing the wild insecurities that had plagued her since the minute he walked out the door.

Only, insecurity was a part of her she couldn't stand. It was something she didn't want in this life she was building, and so rather than collapsing against the man she had literally been aching for, she satisfied herself with the sight of his devilish smile. With his assurance that he'd been fine – had spent so many nights there it felt as much like home as this apartment. Then ducking down into his bag, he pulled out a manila folder. Flashing the same smile he had when walking in the door. The one that had her attention snared, but didn't last long enough for her to identify why. Maybe he was tired, regardless of what he said about the comfort of the apartment. "So, about our fucking honeymoon." He smirked, heading past her to the living room.

A relived laugh burst from her lungs as she followed, giddy elation bubbling up within her.

Nothing had changed.

She was the one who should have gotten more sleep. Settling into the couch, Youichi flipped open the folder and then started sorting the brochures within. Mamori tucked her feet beneath her. "So I see you have some ideas." Only, then she saw what they were… Zurich, Munich, Taiwan. "Not so much of a secluded beach guy, huh?" she asked, a numbness creeping over her with the awareness of what these locales signified. Youichi shrugged, stacking the brochures in piles and then revising the order. "I like the fucking beach fine, but what I'm thinking makes more sense, to kill two birds with one stone."

_Kill two birds….?_ She looked at the piles again. "I need to get out to each of these locations for business in the next month…" Youichi left the rest of the sentence hanging as his hand smoothed over her shoulder. "I know it's supposed to be some fucking romantic fantasy thing, but after the meeting I had yesterday and today, it's time to get my head out of the clouds and back to reality. I'm happy to take you on a trip. But practically speaking, one of these places is going to get us the most mileage. I'll get my meetings taken care of, while you take in the sights. Hit a few fucking tours. Do some shopping." That creeping numbness began to melt off beneath the heat of her rising temper. What in the–? _He _had been the one to suggest the honeymoon. The romantic destinations. But of course, that had been before she'd offered herself up on a platter. Mamori stared back at that easy smirk and indulgent expression, feeling for the first time as if the man before her was a stranger.

…_time to get back to reality…_

Was that what this was? Some kind of warning before she committed? Youichi's way of making sure she understood this life ahead of them wasn't always going to be sunshine and roses? "If you're dying for fucking beach time, though, you could take a trip to Hawaii. Or hit up a fucking spa somewhere. Take someone with you." She held up a staying hand. "I get it, Youichi." The honeymoon was over. And she was about to see a side of her husband he hadn't shown her before.


	19. Chapter 19

AN: I'm so so so so so sorry about not updating, I've been getting settled in at my new job. so far it's going well. Anyway enjoy! :)

Disclaimer: NO! not even happening (though i guess i could dream)

* * *

Chapter 19

Done up in another designer gown, Mamori sat tucked into the back corner of the limousine, watching the lights and windows pass in a blur. Eyes shifting to the opposite seat, she noted Youichi sorting through the work he'd brought along when they'd picked him up from his office a few minutes ago. He'd greeted her with a kiss – chaste as it was – compliments on her gown and hair. A question about her day. And yet nothing about it seemed real. Yes, he listened to her answers, cataloging the information for later use. But the connection they'd shared from the start – that invisible something weighting every comment, every question, every small smile or subtle glance with meaning and value and _more _– had evaporated with her offer of what he swore up and down he wanted. Of course, Youichi was still pleasant-ish. Still charming. Still available to answer her questions or provide an hour or so of company at the end of the night. But the interaction was a mere shadow of what it had been in the weeks before.

Her husband had become the list of attributes he provided that first day they spent together. Had this been what he meant their marriage to be from the start? The romance, the laughter, the intensity of the connection between them… was it all simply Youichi reeling her in? Securing her affection and interest so she would consider his proposition? She couldn't believe it, couldn't understand why he would have tried so hard to give her a taste of something she wasn't going to be able to keep.

Unless it was some sort of test. Youichi ensuring she understood just exactly what she was committing to give up? No, he wouldn't be so cruel. She _knew_ him, and he would never intentionally do something to hurt her that way. Besides, the kind of connection between them couldn't be faked. It wasn't something to manufacture. And it hadn't been one-sided.

So, what was this?

Her eyes drifted across the car. Youichi's focus was fixed on the spreadsheets in front of him. His flawless features intense. And yet nothing like the way he looked at her. Was it possible he had been as deeply affected by the unexpected connection between them as she and it was just too much… too soon? He simply hadn't had a chance to get comfortable with and had forced a step back? Maybe all he needed was time. And maybe she was a self-deluding fool. But she'd once told Youichi he was worth all the risk, and having tasted how sweet it could be between them, she still believed that. Yes, the idea of the man she married turning off his emotions so suddenly, so completely, was terrifying… but she couldn't accept Youichi was capable of such callous indifference.

Maybe all he needed was time to adjust. Time and a little space to get his head around what was happening with his heart. And then that undeniable connection would do the rest. She could wait. For him… for them, she would be the wife he wanted, until he realized what it was he needed. Because they were worth it. Mamori turned toward the window, blinking back the tears that had come with her revelation and the certain soul-deep knowledge everything was going to be fine. Suddenly she felt so much lighter.

Moments later, the car pulled up outside the gold hotel awning. Youichi set his documents aside, touching a finger to the phone at his ear. "We're at the hotel, so the rest will have to fucking wait. Be available later tonight" his eyes flashed to hers, checking to see how she'd take the news he was scheduling a midnight meeting with one of his mangers. She offered an easy smile, then pulled a small compact from her clutch and shifted her attention to a reflection she couldn't care less about. Same glossy lips and matte-finished face. The only change was her understanding of what had happened to her marriage through the past week… and how she intended to go on from there.

Together.

She could wait for Youichi. Because they were worth it. Youichi let out a short cough a long minute later. "Yeah, sorry, still here. Tonight, then." Returning the mirror to her bag, she smiled up at Youichi, refusing to acknowledge the slight furrow in his brow or the way his eyes had narrowed on her. Sensing something different, maybe? A surge of confidence pushed through her veins at the reminder of their connection, the depth of their awareness. Everything was going to work out.

"Ready?" she asked as the door swung open and the chilly night air slipped around them. Youichi stepped from the car, leaning back in to take her hand. "Always."

She was flawless.

By now Youichi should have gotten used to how smoothly Mamori fit into the fabric of his life. She had the entire table eating out of her hand within minutes of their arrival. Her engaging smile and seemingly limitless font of information. The authenticity he found so appealing, a magnet to everyone around them. Amazing. He had been concerned he blew it, letting things get too out of hand emotionally between them – worried there might not be any coming back from that point. But after a few days of testing this more accurate representation of the life they would have together, she had decided. Tonight in the car… he'd seen it. Acceptance. He was stunned and relieved. Damn, had he been relieved. Because he didn't want to give her up. Didn't want to lose her. Now he just needed to keep his head on straight so he didn't screw this up. A round of laughter sounded from the group where Mamori stood, the musical quality of hers standing out to his ears above the rest. Threatening to pull at the place he called off-limits.

Slender fingers fanned wide at her neck as, head tipped back, she enjoyed whatever story Kenta was sharing with his audience. Beautiful. When her eyes opened again, he turned away. He about exhausted the second chances he was going to get with this woman, so no more letting go and building unrealistic expectations he wouldn't be able to deliver on. Wouldn't want to deliver on.

"So it's true?" Youichi's head snapped around toward the source of that well-cultured East Coast accent. Even in accusation, the modulated delivery was as polished as if she had been inquiring after a great-aunt's health.

Caro.

Instinct had him ready to check whether Mamori could see them, but he tamped the need down. If she happened to be looking his way, he'd attract less attention by simply exchanging a few words and moving on. Moving out. That's what he'd do, collect Mamori and take her out of here. She was aware of his previous engagement to Caro and knew their pairing had been a recent thing.

Of course, the specifics…. He'd shared them the night they met. Intended to share them after, as well. But first, he had fought so hard to win her over. And then everything had been too good a chance to fuck up. And this past week, he hadn't wanted to add one more thing. There hadn't been any urgency because he hadn't expected Caro to turn up. Only, here she was, standing two feet away, peering up at him with eyes revealing nothing of her true feelings. Her smile in place – the one he'd seen every fucking time they'd shared space through the duration of their relationship. Smooth. Polished.

"Caro, I didn't think you were back." He hesitated. "How have you been." He was many things but cruel wasn't one of them, not intentionally anyway. "How have I been, Youichi?" A cool voice, a pleasant smile. "Humiliated." His guts knotted. He should have gotten in touch with her. Told her himself. "You shouldn't feel that way," he said. Then, hoping to ease the sting, added, "Everyone knows you left me. You broke our relationship off–"

"Our _engagement_. You were going to marry me." He nodded, a gathering tension spreading through his shoulders. Along his spine. "Yes. You fucking broke off our engagement," he conceded, albeit dryly. They had both managed to keep their voices low, yet despite this he could feel the burning of eyes on them. could sense the attention this small exchange had garnered. A quick scan of the area by their table showed Mamori had moved. Good. He would wrap this up and then get her the hell out of here. With Caro back, he needed to tell Mamori everything. She might not love the timing of how it had all played out, but she would understood that the first night. He had to believe she would understand now. Caro's voice took on a sharper edge than he'd ever heard from her, assuring even more attention for them. "How could you do this to me?!" he met eyes, sincere in his apology. "I never wanted to hurt you. We ended the relationship and you left. Went back east–"

"Because I wanted _more from you_! I wanted you to realize what we had. What you were giving up. I've been waiting–" she broke off, the emotion in her voice spilling over into her eyes. "You said you wanted something you knew we didn't have. Something that wasn't between us. You never implied–"

"I thought you needed to figure it out on your own. That given enough time, you would realize you wanted more than an 'understanding'. I thought you would come after me."

No, it wasn't fucking possible. Caro couldn't be standing in the middle of this ballroom with fucking tears spilling down her cheeks. Not this woman he'd never seen with a hair out of place, who never raised her voice or was anything but polished, impenetrable piece of porcelain beauty in his presence. He didn't want to be the cause of her pain. Had never wanted that. "Caro, when I met Mamori…" he knew how it looked. Knew he would probably never be able to make her understand. "Did you fall in love with her?" the words snapped past her lips with a sort of biting accusation he never would have expected. But she was hurt, and the truth was he didn't know her that well. Had never wanted to look beyond the social-elite exterior she'd shown him. "No. I'm guessing not. Just another handy assembly of qualifications falling into your lap a mere thirteen days after you suggested Bali for our honeymoon, is that about it? Too convenient to pass up. An opportunity not to be missed."

"I knew you were cold, Youichi. But even for you… Does she have any idea? Probably not, considering how fast you married her. I'm guessing it won't be too long, though, before she sees through the smile and charm, your attention, affection – sees how you can turn it on and off at the flick of a switch. Walk away without a backwards glance. Or maybe she doesn't care. Maybe it's the pretty packaging and size of your checkbook that matters." Youichi felt the burn of anger mingling with his guilt. He knew Caroline had been hurt, and he was truly sorry for it. If the barbs she was throwing had been directed at him alone, he would have taken them. But they weren't.

"Caroline," he said, lowering his voice as he leaned closer to her. "Don't fucking do this. People are watching." She scanned the crowd around them, straightened her spine, and then met his eyes with her bitter satisfaction shining in her own. "Yes. They are."

And just like that, he knew.

Straightening away from the woman who might have been his wife, he found Mamori standing stock-still at the edge of the crowd surrounding them. She appeared frozen in place. Caught midstep on her way toward him. One hand half extended, her mouth hanging in a mockery of the gentle smile she always wore.

"Mamori," he said, taking a step toward her. "We should leave." Mamori's eyes followed his approach. One blink. Two. From behind him, soothing words sounded as a number of women moved in to try to defuse the situation with Caroline – only, she wasn't through yet. Voice raising above the din, she called, "I was going to offer your new wife advice I wish I had gotten – not to fall in love with you. But by the look on her face, it's already too late."

Damn it! "That's fucking enough, Caroline!"

Mamori's lips parted on an intake of breath that may have been the precursor to a response or refutation… only, then they closed with a tiny shake of her head and a helpless smile. His hand settled at the curve of her hip, his body moving in close enough to shield her from prying eyes. "We'll talk at home."


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Mamori walked through to the living room, her steps clipped and graceless, her mind a riot of fragmented thoughts, confusion and unwelcome emotion.

The door closed behind her.

The lock fell and Youichi's approach echoed through the entry.

Dropping her wrap over the back of the couch, she stared across at the wall of glass – and the black void of the pacific beyond – wishing she were anywhere but there.

"I know…" a muffled curse sounded as Youichi's hand ran over his mouth in the reflection. "I know you weren't… prepared for that." Mamori shook her head. No. not even a little bit. "I feel like a fool," she admitted, figuring one of them should offer up the whole truth. Youichi closed the distance between them, circling his arms around her belly and pulling her into the solid heat of him. "Don't. if anyone was a fool tonight, it was me and Caroline. I still can't fucking believe – Fuck, Mamori, you have to understand I never expected this from her. If I had–"

"What?" she demanded, pulling free of his arms to look him in the eye. "Bothered to tell me the truth? Shared the more damning details… so I'd have a chance to be prepared if they ever came up?!" Youichi's expression hardened. "I never lied to you."

"Please. Thirteen days? And what about the wanting different things. The realization you weren't fucking right for each other. You made it sound like a loss of fucking interest, when in fact it was the very opposite. She _fucking fell in love with you!_"

"I didn't know– Damn it, she said–"

"Forget what she said, Youichi! Anyone looking at her could see how she felt about you. Like apparently anyone looking at me can see the way I feel. She certainly did." His mouth snapped shut, his eyes losing the blaze of conflict altogether as his head began a slow shake of denial. "Mamori. No–"

"Relax, Youichi. I already know I made a mistake."

"Mamori–" Youichi raked a hand through his hair, grabbed a fistful of it at the base of his skull and then shook his hands out. What could he say? Damn it, the look on Mamori's face earlier that night. She'd been trying so hard to compose herself, to keep it together, but the hurt he'd seen in her eyes… it went hand in hand with the watery emotion he'd seen the night she'd offered her commitment. It was everything he wanted to avoid. Everything _he told her to avoid._ "What happened with Caroline was over before you and I even met."

"I heard. By thirteen days."

"Yes. Not that it should have fucking mattered if it was thirteen hours," he retorted. "This marriage is a fucking arrangement between like-minded parties. It's a partnership, not a fucking love affair!" he yelled, chest heaving. He took a breath before speaking in a slight more calm voice.

"I never lied to you or kept anything of importance from you."

She looked at him then, almost stunned, as if she didn't recognize him. He didn't like it. Not at all. She knew him already, understood him. What was happening tonight didn't change anything. "No. You didn't. I'm the one who wasn't honest."

"What the hell are you talking about?" he snapped. "Don't worry, Youichi. The only person I lied to was myself." He should've let her go, but when she turned to walk away, he couldn't stop himself from reaching out for her arm. "This doesn't change a fucking thing, Mamori. All the reasons we make sense are still the same." Her eyes went to the spot where his hand circled the bare skin of her arm. "Have you stopped to consider, Youichi, that you've been so fixated on showing me all the reasons this marriage could work, you haven't really let yourself see the reasons it might not?"

"No," he said more harshly than he intended. Then, grasping for the understanding he knew she deserved, he tried again, "Mamori, you're upset. Hurt. Embarrassed. I get it. But you're too smart to let one night dictate your future."

"You're right. I am too smart to let a single night of discomfort get in the way of something real. Of course, we're not talking about a single night, just like we're not talking about something real. So don't even pretend we are." Stiffening, he took a step back. "Say it." Say it so he could start working her back from this place he wasn't going to let them go. Her shoulders squared. "I can't be the wife you want." Too late/ "You already are."

"Then maybe it's not me at all. Maybe it's you. Maybe you aren't the husband I want." His hand slid from her arm, all the arguments he'd been ready to throw at her suddenly abandoned him. They were too right together. They made too much sense. It was all this damn emotion he always made a point to avoid his whole life mucking everything up. What they needed was some perspective. "Fuck. Ok, I get it. You need some space. I'll get a suit and head to the office. I've got a call tonight anyway. I'll stay there. You think. And tomorrow night we'll talk." Mamori's desolate gaze returned to his, and after a pause, she offered him a single nod.

They would be fine.

Mamori was a practical woman. Realistic, Youichi reassured himself as he grabbed a suit from his closet and packed a quick bag. She needed some space to get over her hurt. And then tomorrow – damage control. Change of plan. He couldn't afford the yards he'd been lost between them right now. So he'd have to do a play to close in again. Just a little. Just enough to gain another down.

Bag packed, he shook his head and made his way downstairs. Mamori was in the kitchen. He knew she wanted away from him, and yet he couldn't stop from following the sounds of the refrigerator door closing, the click of glass against granite, the quiet gurgle of pouring wine. Rounding the corner, he found her standing against the counter, her glass sitting untouched beside her as she waited for him. "Do you have everything?" she asked. Polite. Detached. Exactly the kind of considerate inquiry his fucking ideal wife would offer. Hollow. Too damn hollow to be coming from the woman he married. "Almost." He crossed to her in a single stride, pulling her into him and taking what was inevitably intended to be a protest for the opportunity it was.

Upturned face.

Parted lips.

The goodnight kiss he couldn't leave without. Only, Mamori's lips were stiff and unyielding. She didn't pull away. It might almost have been better if she had. Instead, she allowed the kiss to occur, taking it with the same cool detachment offered in her words. That wasn't how it was between them, and he might be a jackass for pressing the point tonight, but if he was going to give her the space to think, he wanted to be damn sure he left her with something to think about. He brushed his lips back and forth against hers, knowing she thought to simply ride it out. Tolerate the intimacy. But giving up wasn't in his nature when it was something he wanted. He pulled her closer, sliding his hand up the silky expanse of her bare back to her neck. Burying his fingers in the soft strands of copper and gently coaxing her back, he deepened the kiss, licking softly into her mouth.

At her teeth, the corner of her mouth, her soft, wet tongue. She didn't want to respond. Didn't want to give him anything. And still, he could feel the catch of her breath across his lips. The pull of her mouth against his when, on a weak moan, she surrendered. "Mamori," he groaned, holding her tight. Her tongue rolled softly with his, her mouth drawing at him. Taking. Giving. Until all the cold space was charged with the same current that had been running between them from the very first night – until he knew, even though he was leaving, _this_ would stay with her. When he pulled back, Mamori wouldn't look at him, but he could see the red flush of her cheeks. Her hand fluttered over her lips, and she shook her head, finally meeting his eyes with glittering rage of her own. "Have you ever stopped yourself from taking more than someone wanted to give?"

Her words shocked him "That's not–" but her hand flew up, cutting him off as the first damning tear slid down her cheek – and suddenly there was nothing he could say. No defense. All he could do was watch as she disappeared around the corner in a swirl of dove-gray silk – knowing that lack of will on his part was going to cost him serious ground.

She had no defense against him. Even seeing him coming. Bracing herself against his advance. Mamori hadn't stood a chance. She crumbled beneath the assault of his kiss, praying he'd say something to make her feel better – to convince her things were other than they were – clinging to the very man she desperately needed to leave. Only, Youichi was exactly who she thought he was. A man who could turn his feelings on and off like the flick of a switch. A man who could walk away without a backward glance. A man who could leave one woman and, in the span of a few weeks, move on to the next. He was exactly the kind of man she swore never to allow herself to be susceptible to again. And as if she had been hardwired to seek out his special brand of abuse, she went and married him within hours of meeting. The signs had all been there. Warnings left and right. Her mind flashed back to that first night out with Riko – the awkward moment when the silence all but screamed there was more than she knew. But instead of listening to instinct – she actively dismissed the concern.

Because she hadn't wanted to be _cynical_. Ha!

What she hadn't wanted was to face the truth. Disgusted, Mamori slapped a layer of tape across the top of the box, bit the cap off her marker pen and scrawled the address of her apartment in Denver at the top. Then, stacking the box with the other two, she looked around her at the house she thought would be her home. She had spent the night breaking down the life she had started to build here. Dividing her belongings into two categories. Her life. And her life with Youichi. It was only the belongings from the former she would keep. And those, there was only a handful she could pack herself and still catch her flight. The rest she would coordinate with Youichi once she was back in her own space. She didn't have any fantasies about being able to leave and wash her hands of him forever. They were married, after all. Legally bound.

They would need to talk. But not here. Not today. Guilt burned through her as she thought of Youichi coming home to find her gone. He'd be livid. Feel betrayed. But Youichi had become too proficient at manipulating her. And as evidence by his infuriating kiss, she was simply too weak to resist. Which meant this was the only way. She couldn't afford to stay in a situation where her will had become a casualty of Youichi's desires. She had built her life around doing the smart thing. Being practical. Responsible. It was one of the things that had drawn Youichi to her in the first place. But around him, she didn't make the smart decision. She didn't do the right thing. When it came to her husband, she threw caution to the wind and gambled on the feel-good. Telling herself she knew what she was doing… even when she had no idea. It wasn't the life she wanted for herself. And it wasn't the life she wanted for the child she planned to have. She owed them both more. Which was why she was leaving. Before Youichi had a chance to change her mind.

Gone. Nine in the morning and already she was gone. The house quiet and still beneath the rusty sound of Youichi's breath sawing in and out of his lungs.

Goddamn it.

He thought she would've waited. Thought her conscientious core of respect and sensitivity would be enough to ensure she wouldn't leave without talking to him. Telling him face to face it was over. At least, trying to.

But as sensitive and respectful as Mamori was, beneath all that softness, she was _smart_. Too smart to give him the chance to talk her out of anything. So she had worked through the night. Packing only what she could take with her. Organizing the rest for his convenience. He wanted to topple every damn piece of furniture in the place. He couldn't fucking believe she actually did it. She wasn't supposed to leave. She was supposed to calm down enough that he could talk sense to her. Remind her of the kind of life they could have together.

Instead she had caught some redeye out, leaving him to find the life he had planned for them dismantled into piles and labeled in her hand. To hell with that!

Hands curling into fist at his sides, he stormed out of the dark office that still smelled like fucking sunshine.

It wasn't over.

She might have left, but it wasn't as though she was out of reach. The only reason she would have gone without talking to him first was that she didn't want to be coerced into staying. He was going to prove her right. Go after her. Make her see reason. Make her come back. Fuck some half-hearted kiss that stopped nearly before it started. He would seduce her. Completely. Start with his mouth and tongue. Back her against a wall because it drove her completely wild – and yeah, he wasn't above using his body to exploit the weaknesses of hers. And once he had her mindless, breath breaking against his ear, her hands clutching at his hair, her pleas filing the space around her, he'd use that leverage–

"_Don't leave me. I don't know how to let you go…"_

The echo of those decades-old words from a man he hated to the woman who hadn't been able to resist them had his steps grinding to a halt, the blood burning through his veins running cold.

_He was just like _him.

No matter how much Youichi swore not to be, that bastard was part of his DNA. How many times had his mother tried to leave his father? Tried to break things off and start a life separate from the man who would never make her properly part of his? He thought about that morning so many years ago. The too-small, too-still shape of her curled in on herself in the middle of her bed. The knowledge, even before he reached out to try to wake her–

What would it have meant for them if his father had respected her wishes and let her start living her own life without him? Could she have pulled herself together? Found the will to just… live? Opening the fist he'd had clenched since he'd torn through the house and found Mamori gone, he stared down at the band of diamonds in his palm. This was the second time she'd returned it to him. The second time he'd completely ignored what she wanted. Raking his hands through his hair, he balled them at the back of his skull and stared out the windows at the ocean beyond. He wasn't his father. He spent his life proving it to himself and anyone who dared connect the Hiruma name. He stood at the door of his father's office that last day and turned down his money. His job. His grudging recognition. Told him he wouldn't accept any of it. The only thing he would take were the memories of how this man had ruined his mother's too-short life with his selfishness. And those only because, try as he might, he couldn't make himself forget.

An awful pain settled deep within him. He had to let Mamori go. It would be better for them both. Forcing his breathing to level out, he turned around and walked back to her suite of rooms. Once this space was cleared of her things, he'd be fine. Move on, just as he always did.

Even if _always_ had _never_ been like this.

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well my lovely readers, this is the conclusion of our tale, I really hope you enjoyed it, i had fun with it! I might put in an epilogue if i get requests for it, let me know.


	21. Chapter 21

Okay soIi'll start off by saying last chapter was NOT the last, honestly I was surprised by how many people are reading this... but there was no way I was gonna leave it there, that would have been such a clifhanger ending, and personally I would've pulled out the pitchforks. anyway I'm sorry if i scared anyone, I was just kidding! :) though this story is almost over... for real this time. It ends better, with more closure.

Anyway enough of my rambling, you guys wanna READ! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Godzilla + my dreams of ever owning any of this = crushed.

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Chapter 21

Mamori had thought the phone call with Youichi two nights earlier uncomfortable. Yes, she had expected they would need to talk, say the things her absence had already announced, work out the return of her belongings and discuss a divorce. And they had. But what she hadn't expected was the call to go the way it had.

So very easily. Peaceably. Politely.

Youichi's casually conversational tone–

"_Do you have a lawyer already or can I get one for you?"_

"_Sounds like the earliest the fucking shippers can get there is Friday. You going to be okay till then?"_

"_You sure you don't want any of these fucking clothes? I have no fucking use for them now so they'll just sit here till I can get rid of them."_

–working her over in a way no amount of hostility, accusation or railing could have accomplished. It had nearly killed her to leave, but the hurt of knowing how little her departure had affected him was so much worse. He turned off all emotion… in a single day. Been so unaffected, the call had unfolded more like friendly chitchat than the first step in the end of a marriage. Back at the house, he'd been ready to 'talk' her out of leaving, but he'd still been in the fight at that point. Once she was gone and the loss was confirmed… it was as if he simply shrugged it off. And she was wrecked to have all her suspicions so quickly confirmed. But, as brutal as having her heart crushed again was, the fresh pain of it was exactly what she needed to alleviate her doubts about artificial insemination and her choice to forgo relationships in the future.

She would never doubt again.

So the call, as uncomfortable as it was, had been worth it.

Or so she thought right up until sixty seconds ago, when she opened the door expecting to find the shippers on her stoop, but instead faced Youichi grinning that aggravating grin at her. "Hey, fucking woman, got something these guys can prop the security door open with. Shouldn't take too fucking long–"

"What are you doing here?" she snapped, too shocked to soften her demand. A careless shrug. "Didn't know if you had anyone to help, and figured it would go more smoothly with a second body. You know, make sure there weren't any problems." Throat thick with emotions she didn't want to face, emotions she needed to put aside, she shook her head. "Youichi, you shouldn't have come here. I left because–"

"Call it fucking marital privilege." His grin stayed exactly as it was, but his eyes were hard as they scanned the guys unloading one box after another from the truck. "I'm still your husband, so might as well work it while I've got it." Marital privilege – who was he kidding? She wanted to argue with him, tell him how much his presence in her home – when she left in the early hours of the morning to avoid seeing him again – infuriated her. But Youichi wasn't stupid. He knew exactly how much this would upset her, and he chose to come regardless because Youichi always did what Youichi wanted. "Anyway, I'm here," he said, reaching over her head and wrapping his hand around the security door she was holding onto for dear life. "So, what do you say we haul this stuff up to your apartment and get these guy out of here?" she nodded, trying to ignore the way his casual work shirt stretched across the broad expanse of his chest, or how when he leaned in to take hold of the door she hadn't yet relinquished, it put him close enough for the too-good scent of his bodywash and skin to tease her. Unable to resist, she drew a deep breath through her nose and held his delicious scent within her. Savoring it as she savored the memories it spurred. Memories of late nights, bare skin and pleasure that engaged her every sense.

She had fallen so far. So fast.

Youichi's free hand closed over her waist, and she looked up into those dark blue-green eyes. It was a mistake. She shouldn't be this close. Shouldn't have allowed herself to be snared by the one lure sure to catch her. The hand at her waist coasted over the small of her back, shooting sparks of sensation across her skin, sparks that threatened to reignite a flame. "Mamori," Youichi said, urging her closer to all his heat. She knew she should push away. Being this close meant getting burned, but– "Watch out, fucking woman, these guys need to get by."

Her head swung around to the first mover, who was edging around her, a box marked OFFICE in his arms. "Thanks, ma'am." She nodded, embarrassment blazing in her cheeks as she tried to step back from Youichi's hold and into the door. Only, he held her firm, until she had no choice but to meet his eyes again.

This time she kept her head.

"Let me go so I can tell them where to put everything." So she could breathe and think and stand a chance at remembering all the reasons she needed to keep her distance from this man who wreaked havoc on her judgment.

His thumb slid in the smallest caress against the base of her spine, and then his attention shifted back to the men and the truck and the return of Mamori's life to what it had been before she had met him. What the hell was he doing there? He'd decided to let Mamori go. Had spent the entire damn day she left getting himself to a place where that possessive part of him all about _keeping her _was tamped down enough for him to be able to call. Talk to her _without trying to talk her into anything._ Make sure she had made it back to Denver and was okay.

He'd done that.

Worked out a few logistics regarding the return of her things and hung up patting himself on the back for finally doing the right thing. And then he'd gone to bed and stared at the ceiling until he finally gave up and drove into work. Where he spent the next eighteen hours. When the shipping crew arrived, he supervised the packing of Mamori's belongings. Figuring once they were out of the house – the constant in-his-face reminder of what he wanted and what he lost removed – he would be able to relax. The vise around his lungs would ease up. The persistent knot in his gut would finally loosen. But as the last box left his house, he found himself following behind. Checking the truck, grilling the guy in charge about how long it would take to arrive. What precautions were in place to ensure her belongings would be in the same shape when they arrived as when they left. If the men who did the loading were the same ones who would be unloading. How long he'd been working with them.

When he realized no amount of reassurance would be enough, he decided to fly out and meet the truck in Denver. Make sure the movers delivered her things and got out of her apartment without a hitch. Simple. No ulterior motives involved. Yeah, sure, fantasies about getting her beneath him, on top of him, wrapped so fucking sweet and tight and hot around him had been running through his head on a thirty second loop. But did he have plans to act on those fantasies?

No.

At least, he hadn't until she'd peered up at him from so temptingly close. Those eyes that had been filled with ire when she saw him waiting at her door going soft and warm as he got her out of the way of the mover. Fine. He still wouldn't act. Her looking up at him the way she did, when he knew for damn sure she didn't want anything, spoke volumes about the sway he held with her. Too much. And the emotion in her eyes? Yeah, no stroke to his ego had ever compared… but he still didn't want a relationship with that kind of emotion. That kind of responsibility. What he wanted was Mamori wanting him… but not needing him. Not vulnerable to him. Sure as hell not trying to leave him over and over again…. And simply failing.

Fuck that.

No. he'd make sure she was fine and then he'd be able to take off without looking back. With the last box delivered, Youichi signed the paperwork, tipped the guys and then closed Mamori's door. Her apartment felt smaller than he remembered. But then, there were boxes stacked in the center of each of the four rooms, eating up space. She hadn't brought everything to San Diego. Not the furniture. But her keepsakes. Books. Knickknacks.

Things he'd laughed about seeing as she unpacked them, but now wondered if he would miss having them. opening one odd-shaped box, Mamori withdrew a lamp with a beaded shade, and he found himself watching intently as she returned it to the place it had been, curious about how her life fit together without him in it. Setting the lamp on the small table beside a reading chair, she plugged the cord into the outlet and stepped back, an unreadable expression on her face. He couldn't tell whether she was happy to see it returned or not. She turned to him, and he knew what was coming next. Wasn't ready for it and so cut her off before she could say goodbye.

"Which room do you want to start with?" he asked, jamming his hands deep into his jean pockets so she wouldn't see his fists, and plastered an easy grin on his face. "Youichi, thank you for getting my things returned so quickly, but I can handle the rest."

"I'm here," he said, aware his voice had lowered. Taken a stern tone. "I'll fucking help. Let the office know I'll be out a day or two–"

"What?" she gasped.

"We'll order in, pick up a bottle of wine for tonight. Settle down for some mind-fucking TV or something." He'd make it casual. Not intimidating. No demands. No pressure. Not really. "Order in, huh? Are you out of your mind or are you intentionally being cruel?" she was vibrating with tension now, and suddenly Youichi was right there with her. "I'm trying to fucking help. I want–"

"It's not about what you want, Youichi! How can you not get this? I can't be friends with you!" and then he was in her face, his hands wrapped tight around her upper arms, as he bellowed back, "I don't want to be fucking friends, Mamori!" she blinked, as shocked by the break in his reserve as he was. "What do you want?" she asked too quietly for the way they were locked together. Seconds passed and then finally the breath he'd been fighting to contain shot past his lips with the only answer he had.

"I want you. I want what we were supposed to have. I want the fucking wife and partner I found in Vegas. I want you to admit I can give you more than you can have alone."

"It won't work."

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because–" she held up her hands helplessly, too much pain and emotion shinning in her eyes to be anything other than what came next "–I love you, Youichi." It wasn't a surprise after what she had said before moving out, or at least it shouldn't have been. He saw the evidence in her eyes. In her hurt. In a million little things he gave up trying to deny. But hearing the actual words on those lips he couldn't get enough of – they hit him like he was getting sacked by the other team's defense, knocking the wind from him and leaving him on the ground. Mamori walked to her door and held it open, her eyes on the floor ahead of her feet. "Please, just go."


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Mamori backed up her files and then stared at her monitor. Too many sleepless nights and the desperate need to distract herself had the latest phase of her project complete well ahead of schedule. What was she going to do now to stave off those unwelcome thoughts? The insidious whispers slipping too fast through her mind?

…_good morning, Mrs. Hiruma…. _

…_What about my fucking morning kiss…please…_

Some days she gave in to them, losing herself in the memories. The pleasure she found in those moments. Other days, like today, she fought against them, not wanting the pain that came with the understanding of what she lost.

The monitor blurred.

More tears. How long would it take before she ran out of tears to shed? At the sharp ache in her heart, she wondered if it would be ever. The trill of her phone sounded. Closing her eyes to wipe the last of her tears from evidence, she reached for the handset, welcoming whatever distraction waited on the other end. Maybe a credit offer? A survey? Whoever the poor sucker was on the other side, they would earn their check today. She'd keep them busy for the next hour and a half at least. "Mamori Anezaki," she answered, still having to force it past her lips. A pause, and she assumed it was some automated system registering the pickup and kicking her over to a live person. Only then – "Anezaki? I realize it's been a while since we spoke, but I'd have thought someone would have fucking notified me if I'd gotten divorced."

Youichi.

How was it possible for a person's heart to leap and fall all at once? "It may not be official yet, but it will be."

"You fucking sure about that…?" He muttered before clearing his throat. "So I was in fucking New York a few days, but I'd been meaning to check in once you'd had a chance to get your things unpacked. Make sure there wasn't any damage. You got everything?" a reasonable inquiry. Youichi took his responsibilities and commitments seriously. That was all this was. Taking a steadying breath, she answered equally reasonably, "Everything was in perfect order. Thank you again for your help."

"Glad to fucking hear it. Let me know if you realize anything's missing."

"I don't think there is."

"Good. So now that you're settled back in, what are your plans?" Mamori stared at the phone a moment. How could he ask that? "Youichi, you know what my plans are. After everything that's happened… nothing's changed." Nothing except her heart was broken into a thousand pieces and every time she heard his voice, so casual and inquiring, it broke into a thousand more. "I – I really need you to let me go. I think it's better if our lawyers handle the communication from here."

_You know what my plans are…_

The words pounded through Youichi's skull as relentlessly as a jackhammer, over and over again, until now, hours after Mamori had ended the call, he felt the reverberation of them through every cell in his body. He'd known from the start Mamori had a path laid out for her future. A family without the complications of a marriage or a man. And he'd been fine with it. Because he believed it would never come to pass. He was supposed to have time. Time to win her back. Time to figure a whole in her defensive line.

She fell in love with him.

Which meant she was capable of the one thing that, previously lacking, had led her to consider artificial insemination. _She fell in love with him._ So she was supposed to believe it would happen with someone else. Eventually. And wait.

Only now she was going to go through with it._ Nothing's changed…_ Uh-huh. Not one damn thing. Except he was physically sick to his stomach thinking about Mamori with another man's child. Thinking about that unbreakable connection, that intimacy of union – even if the donor never knew she existed, the idea alone was enough to make him feel trigger happy. And what about all the months to come? Her relationship with her mom was tenuous at best. Who was going to be there to help her through the tough times? The times when she was sick, weak, hungry… or scared. Hell. He hated that almost more than he hated the idea of some piece of another man mingling with the very essence of who she was. His mother hadn't talked a lot about what it was like raising him on her own. She hadn't wanted him to feel like a burden. But he could remember a night when she cried, talking to his father. Asking him if he had any idea what it was like for her – waking up in labor by herself. Not understanding what was happening. Having to get to the hospital and spend all those hours waiting for a man who had made promise after promise, but never came to her. A man who let her deliver his child, scared and alone, while he hosted a goddamn Christmas party with his wife.

Mamori wouldn't even have the hope someone might come.

Damn it, why couldn't she just let him be with her? Pushing out of his chair, he walked over to the bar and poured a glass of scotch, threw it back in the hopes the burn would dull the gut-wrenching ache with all the what-ifs and why-couldn'ts constantly swirling around Mamori's name in his belly. It didn't help. So he poured another, figuring if he couldn't kill the pain in his gut, maybe he'd at least be able to numb the pounding in his head.

An hour later, he was thinking more clearly than he ever had before. Pushing the empty bottle aside, he reached for his phone.

"I need you…"

Youichi woke with what felt like the better half of a landfill in his eyes and the near certainty that somehow through the course of the night he'd ended up on a cruise – the gentle rock and loll of the space around him doing things he didn't entirely love to his stomach. Only, then the mattress beneath him sagged with a shift of weight that wasn't his own. Not. Alone.

Elation ripped through him as he tried to pry his eyes open, experienced a stab of pain at the intrusion of light and clamped them closed again. It didn't matter. If he wasn't alone, then somehow, someway, he'd gotten Mamori back into his bed. Whatever he drank last night was a miracle worker. Blindly reaching across the sheets, he encircled the first warm thing he encountered and pulled it close. Or tried to, except–

"I don't know what you heard," said the octaves-too-low voice from considerably too close, "but I'm not that kind of girl."

_Musashi._

This time Youichi wrenched his eyes open, forcing them to withstand the searing pain of daylight and the utterly confusing sight of his hand wrapped around Musashi's jean-clad thigh, where it rested atop the comforter on his bed. _His bed._ Not a cruise ship. So what was with the sudden, violent pitch – Oh, hell! "Yeah. Bucket's right over the side," Musashi stated, using his leg to shove him in the opposite direction. "Knock yourself out."

Thirty minutes later, Youichi was showered and dressed. Minty freshness doing its best to disguise the funky aftermath of a night misspent. What had he been thinking? Dragging himself into the kitchen, Youichi dropped into a chair at the table and hazard a glance at Musashi, who was cooking steak and eggs, a smug smile on his smug face.

"Not to suggest I wasn't fucking thrilled to find you in my bed this morning, but what the hell are you doing here?" a smug flip of the spatula. Damn him. "My phone's on the table. There's a voicemail that gets the ball rolling, but I think the texts cover the gist of it pretty well. See for yourself."

The churning mess that was his stomach solidified into a lead ball. Fuck. Thumbing through the messages, the lead ball grew with each exchange.

8:42 HIRUMA : Need you to go to Denver w/ me.

8:46 MUSASHI: In meeting. Give me 1 hr.

8:53 HIRUMA: Fuck no. Want fucking life back. Going now. Think I cn tlk her into it with sperm.

Fuck. Please don't let him have called her.

8:53 MUSASHI: R U drinking?

8:55 HIRUMA: Hv wht she wants. Solllid plan. Better than hers.

8:56 MUSASHI: Leaving now. Wait 4 me.

9:02 HIRUMA: Dnt worry bout it.

9:02 MUSASHI: WAIT 4 ME

9:04 MUSASHI: PICK UP YOUR PHONE!

9:57 MUSASHI: You should stop for drink that bar in terminal with the big olives b4 flight.

10:22 HIRUMA: Hey, ur at the bar. You look pissed.

Youichi looked up at his friend. His very best friend in the entire world. "How did you do it?"

"Luck mostly. And some cash. Called your car service and got a guy ready to block your driveway – just in case. I know you don't drink and drive, but, well, you weren't exactly yourself. When you called for a ride, he was already there. Drove you to the airport, the very long way. Meanwhile, I took the chopper down and picked you up at the bar."

"And you stayed with me… in my bed… to make sure I didn't drown in my own fucking puke?" pushing a hand through his hair, he shook his head. This was a low like he'd never expected to see. "Yeah, but mostly to keep you from calling Mamori, dumbass. By the way, your phone met with a bit of bad luck when a meat tenderizer fell on it last night. Sorry." Musashi slid a plate of steak and eggs in front of him and dropped into Mamori's chair at the table, diving into a plate of his own. "So what's the deal?" he asked around a bite of eggs.

_Nothing's changed…_

"She's planning to get pregnant."

"Ah, and you thought you'd help her with that? Right. Only, I'm wondering, if she didn't want you to get her pregnant before, then where did you think your swimmers were going to get you last night?"

"If I had to guess, I probably figured I could talk her into reconsidering. Make her see what I could offer her. What she was giving up."

"And that would be the marital comforts. Financial security?" Youichi grunted. "at least someone fucking sees it."

"Yeah, I see something. But I'm not sure it's the _same thing_ as you." He wasn't in the mood to decipher hidden meaning or subtle subtexts. "Spit it out." Musashi shook his head, the lines between his brows drawing together. "Ask yourself this, Youichi – what is it that's got your balls busted? I mean, really… what is it about Mamori you don't want to lose?" Youichi opened his mouth, ready to explain about how right they were together. How easy it was. Only, suddenly, he could see the past few months with a clarity he'd never had before, and a tension, different than the one he'd already become so intimate with, slid down his spine. Their marriage had been a train wreck from the spike of the ball. His bride so soused she woke up the next morning unable to remember his name, let alone why she agreed to marry him. She had been a hassle from the start. The kind of work he never invested in relationships. She'd taken time. She'd taken romancing. She'd kept him on his toes, kept him working, kept him guessing. She'd infuriated and confused him.

And he'd relished every minute of it.

It didn't make sense.

In retrospect, Mamori had basically brought every complication and frustration indicative of the love relationships he claimed to loathe to the table, and had him all but begging her to give him more.

She affected him like no one he'd ever met. And even knowing what kind of chaos she'd delivered upon his life… the idea of not having her in it was killing him. Staring back at Musashi's smug, smug face, he nodded.

"Okay. I think I've got it."


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: I own ABSOLUTELY nothing.

Hopelessly devoted to you - Glee or Grease

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Chapter 23

Six hours later, Youichi tore down the stairs, patting his pockets as he went. Wallet? Check. Keys? Check. Ring box? Burning a hole in his pocket. Check. A rushed glance at his watch and his adrenaline spiked. He was doing this. The flight left in forty minutes and he'd be on that plane even if it meant buying the damn airline to ensure it. And once he got to Denver – his stomach took a dive as a thousand scenarios flooded his mind… only one of which would bring about the happily-ever-after he'd only hours before come to terms with wanting.

Shoving all outcomes but that one from his mind, he grasped the knob from the front door and–

Ticket! He forgot to print the damn thing out, and after his phone's tragic demise, he needed the paper. Computer in the kitchen! Sprinting down the hall, he almost bit it skidding around the corner.

He needed to get there.

Needed to be with his wife.

Needed to tell her it could work between them.

And not because of the reasons he'd been laying on her from the start, but because of all the reasons he'd figured out once she left. All the things he realized he couldn't bear to live without. Flipping open the computer, the black screen flashed to life, bringing up a background with a picture of the two of them at a charity dinner from the month before. And the way how was looking at her… how the hell had he missed that?

He'd have to wait for the plane to figure it out. There wasn't time now. Bringing up the browser, he distractedly noted Mamori's email was still open from the last time she used the machine. About to open a new tab for the airline, he paused as one of the bold massages caught his eye and the preview shattered his plans. It was from the sperm bank, dated five days prior.

_Subject: Per your inquiry, Donor #61354386YM2 is available for immediate pickup._

Mamori had brought this on herself.

Blinking down at her tablet, perched on the pass-through counter dividing her kitchen and living room, she sat, a silent observer to the video chat that was Julie, Wakana, and Suzuna's rally of support.

"Oh, and are you really surprised he got away?"

What had she been thinking?

"Shut it. You saw the way he looked at her during the reception."

"Shut it? Nice talk, Julie."

Well, she'd been hoping a triple dose of misery in the form of this fingernails-down-a-blackboard bickering might distract her from the misery that had begun in her heart and then slowly, steadily spread until it had overtaken every part of her being. No such luck. Where was a white chocolate martini of birdbath proportions with a garden hose size crazy straw to expedite consumption.

"Are you joking?" Julie leaned around Suzuna to scowl at Wakana. Not that she'd be able to drink it, even if one materialized out of thin air. The thought alone had her belly kicking up rebellion enough she had to close her eyes and draw several deep breaths through her nose. Besides, Bob only knew what kind of mess she'd wake up in if she followed the cocktail path to avoidance again. A mess of sheets and covers… and Youichi's legs tangled with her own?

_No._

She wasn't supposed to want that. Had to stop wanting that. Or at the very least, stop fantasizing about ways in which to make it happen.

"You want nice talk? How about–"

"Girls," Suzuna cut in. "This is about Mamo nee. Her life is beyond tatters. Again. Another failed relationship. This time a marriage. Granted, we all know about the hasty courtship and may have had our own theories about the probability of success–" Wakana gasped, hand flying up to not quite cover the smile riding her lips. "Suzuna!"

But Mamori's cousin-in-law simply ducked her head a pinch, holding out her hands as if to say, _We were all thinking it._ At which point the three began a rapid-fire exchange rife with theories, speculations, the more pathetic bullet points from Mamori's romantic past, a tangent about Wakana buying a pair of shoes out from under Julie, something about a sweater in high school… a boy from middle school… the Laura Ingalls Wilder books from first grade…

She might have cut them off, but the sad truth was she simply didn't care. That instant of weakness with the forbidden fantasies had opened the door to something worse – something far more devastating.

Memories.

Broken bits and pieces of what had actually been. Youichi… _I love it when you get my name right… I've got you. What I want is to keep you… Everything, Mamori… So this marriage thing… it's working for you? You're a fucking fantasy… I don't want to be goddamn friends…_

Oh, it hurt so bad.

"Great, Wakana. See what you did– she's crying–"

"Me?"

"Oh, no, Mamo-nee, don't cry. So maybe the whole love thing isn't for you. So what? Think about something happy."

"Yes! Think about your little sperm bank baby!"

Mamori shook her head and wiped her hands beneath her eyes, hating her apparent inability to keep the tears at bay. "I'm fine. I'll be fine." Someday. Maybe. "I just need a drink." Pushing up from the stool where she was seated, she circled around to the sink and poured a glass of water. Thought of the way Youichi had so often shown up in her office with a cold drink or some healthy snack. The way he was so thoughtful and attentive to her, most of all when she managed to forget to be attentive to herself. He was aware of her on a level no one ever had been before. But it hadn't been love. How ironic that her inability to fall in love had been the destruction of every other relationship she ever had. And actually finding it, the destruction with Youichi. Why now? Why couldn't she have been the wife he needed her to be? Three swift knocks sounded at her door, thankfully drawing her out of that downward spiral of self-destructive thoughts. Her eyes swung to the door, her heart tripping in her chest until she realized the security door hadn't buzzed. Mrs. Dabble from 2C had probably signed for another package. Chastising herself for that stupid surge of hope, she walked to the door and swung it open–

"Youichi?" she choked out, shaking her head in disbelief at the scowling man standing at her door, a plastic shopping bag hanging from one hand. "No fucking security chain?" he demanded, his outrage potent and possessive. "First some little old lady downstairs holds the door open for me, letting me march right in, and then you open the door without even fucking checking who's out here? Mamori, this is decent neighborhood, but what the fuck?!"

She shook her head, too stunned to register anything beyond the fact that Youichi was here.

He came back.

Again.

Youichi shoved his free hand through his hair, acutely aware of the ass he was making of himself and yet unable to walk away as he should. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her words barely a whisper. He opened his mouth to answer, but then all he could do was stare. Soaking in the sight of her gorgeous mouth he hadn't seen smile for too damn long. Her face seemed thinner and he didn't like the shadows beneath her eyes, and yet no one had ever been so beautiful as she was right then. Clearing his throat, he looked down into the eyes that had been haunting him for weeks, and then to the hand that had come to rest defensively across her belly.

"Why did I wait so long?" he asked himself, keenly aware of the futility of the question. Mamori blinked, confusion and hurt and a thousand other things shining too bright in those beautiful blue eyes. And then resolve. "You need to stop this, Youichi. What you're doing, calling, showing up. It's–" she swallowed, looking as though even that simple act took monumental effort "– it's hurting me."

He hated knowing it was the truth. Wishing he'd been smart enough from the start to make it so neither one of them would have had to go through this kind of pain. "I'm sorry."

"Then leave," she whispered. A single fat tear spilled over from her eye, and his heart twisted with a pain he'd never experienced before. "Please. I can't be what you wanted me to be. I'll never be able to be that for you. Let me go."

"No." he shook his head solemnly. "I tried. I did. But I can't."

"You have to–"

"I'll _never_ let you go, Mamori!" the words had ripped past his lips before he could even think to temper them. But they were the truth. Mamori froze in her spot, her mouth parted in midprotest, brows pulled high together in an expression that was pure, helpless disbelief.

But not elation. Not blissful surrender.

At the first blink, the sign she was breaking out of that stunned state of suspension, he panicked. He hadn't said enough, hadn't explained, couldn't risk her response before he told her everything she needed to know. So he pulled the lowest trick he had in his arsenal. This was too important to him – _she_ was too important to him – to risk playing by the rules. And for the first time in his life, he didn't damn his father for that bit of unscrupulous DNA spiraling through the darkest parts of who he was. He embraced it.

Stepping forward, he caught Mamori with one hand beneath the fall of her hair, silencing any denial she might have made with a kiss bursting with every bit of aching, unfulfilled longing, heartbreak, desire and need he suffered since the moment she left. He told her with his lips how he missed her, with his tongue the way of his want. Gentle bites hinted at the hold she had on him. And when her fingers were wrapped in his shirt, her breath rushing across his lips and cheeks, her eyes again locked with his – he went on. Telling her what he'd only just discovered for himself.

"You know, I never wanted love. I saw what it did to my mother and didn't want any part of it. All my adult life I avoided that kind of intimacy, holding myself at arm's length and making unbreachable boundaries a part of every relationship. It was easy. Until I met you. In the span of a few hours, I'd married you and all the rules I lived by were a thing of the past. I swore up and down we'd have the kind of controlled marriage where no one could get hurt, but I couldn't even control myself. Nothing halfway was enough with you. I made every excuse in the book, but I couldn't admit what was really going on."

"Youichi…" his name passed her lips on a breath that barely dared to take voice.

"I said I didn't want to be your friend, but it's not true. I want to be your friend and your lover and your husband and the father to your children–" he broke off, swallowing past a well of regret without limit. "I know you're going to tell me it's too fucking late, but it's not, not for us." He dropped to one knee. Watching her eyes go wide, he held up the gallon of organic whole milk in one hand and, pulling the box from his pocket with the other, flipped open the lid, revealing the two rings nestled together within black velvet. One the diamond-encrusted wedding band she'd returned to him twice already but he couldn't accept she didn't want. The other a solitaire as weighty as the promise it conveyed. "I'll love this kid like it's my own. It will never know a single fucking minutes of doubt because I swear to love it as much as I love you."

Mamori's breath sucked in at his confession. His revelation. His freedom.

"You don't remember my first proposal, but I'm hoping this one will fucking stick. I love you, Mamori. And I'm asking you to let me give you a lifetime of what you've shown me matters most. Laughter, love, late night conversations, arguments. I'm asking you to be my fucking wife in the most unconventional, non-traditional and time-tested meaning of the word, for as long as we both shall live." Heart slamming, breath held, he waited as his world hung in the balance.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

This couldn't be happening. It wasn't real. It wasn't possible. This was a nervous breakdown in action. It had to be. Something she should have seen coming… except the gallon of milk was sort of surreal her brain typically didn't conjure.

Which meant… "Oh, my God."

Her breath left on a quiet sob and she reached for him, pulling at his shirt until he stood. Taking the milk from him, she set it on the secretary table with a small shake of her head. "I'm not pregnant, Youichi." He stared into her eyes a long moment, the muscles of his throat working as though he was trying to make words that wouldn't come. And the he pulled her into his arms, his lean body wrapping around her as ragged breath sounded against the top of her head. Relief, powerful enough to overwhelm a man as strong as Youichi, washed over her. It was humbling to witness.

"Your email was still open on the kitchen laptop," he said, his words glass-and-gravel rough. "I saw the message about a request donor being ready for pickup." Mamori flattened her hand against his chest, the only reassurance she could offer within the decadent confines of Youichi's hold. "That message was in response to an inquiry I'd made months ago. Before we met. I wasn't ready to go through with those plans." They were still married, for one. And the way she felt about Youichi… she just couldn't bring herself to start something so important with her heart still torn to shreds. She assumed her plans would be on hold for at least another year or two. Releasing his python grip on her, Youichi gently cupped her jaw as he tipped her face to his.

"I don't fucking care." The steady calm of his words in direct contrast to the burning intensity in his eyes. Her brow lifted in question. "I want you anyway. Even if we don't have a baby." A soft laugh pushed past her lips. How did he do it? Make her laugh when her world was up in the air? "You want me anyway?" A nod. "I love you, Mamori. I didn't think it was something I had in me, but that was because I'd never experienced it before I met you."

_He loved her._

Youichi searched her eyes, one corner of his mouth curling into a wolfish smile as the hands at her jaw slipped into her hair. Gently he urged her head back and lowered his mouth for a soft, sinking kiss that tasted like every promise she'd never allowed herself to dream of asking for. Then, fitting his lips more firmly over hers, he slid his tongue past her teeth to stroke against hers, once, twice, again and again, until her hands were locked in the fabric of his shirt and she was clinging to him with everything she had. Never breaking the kiss, his hands started a slow roam over the contours of her body, following the curve of her waist and the lines of her arms. Threading through her fingers and making the world around her spin, until she was grounded by the unyielding resistance of the door to her apartment at her back. The seductive press of her wrists against the solid panels, and the mind-jumbling weight of youichi's body in full delicious contact with her own.

"I love you," he whispered against her lips.

"Oh, my god, yes." They both froze at punctured illusion they were the only two people on the planet. In the room. "Shhhh!"

Youichi's chin pulled back as he looked down into her rapidly heating face. "I'm sorry – I forgot." How could she have forgotten? Together they turned toward the source of the invasive words, to where her abandoned tablet sat on the pass-through counter, three eager-eyed, utterly shameless faces filling the screen. Youichi pushed back from her to walk to the electronic device. "Fucking shows over."

"No, wait!"

"Heya, Youichi, nice moves."

"Damnit, Wakana! See what you di–"

Flipping the cover closed, he severed the connection and turned to face her. She shouldn't have laughed. Really. "Something fucking funny?" he asked, a smirk on his face. "Accident," she swore, holding her hands up. "I was distracted."

"So it would seem," Youichi replied, nodding toward her still raised left hand. Her gaze followed his to the fourth finger of her left hand, where her wedding ring glistened beside the new ring that had been nestled in the black velvet when she had last seen it. "Sneaky," she whispered, barely able to push the word past the well of emotions at seeing her wedding band returned to her hand. "I was hoping seeing them on your finger might help me get the answer I'm waiting for."

"I love you, Youichi. And I want everything you're offering. I want to be your wife and the mother of your children. But–" he stepped forward, all that cocky confidence falling away. "But?"

She smoothed her hand over the stubble roughened jaw before letting it drift to the buttons of his shirt. "But what would you say about waiting on the baby. Maybe taking a few months or a year–"

"A trial?" he asked, nodding quickly. Determination and resolve pushing past the disappointment and hurt that flashed across his face. "Anything to make you feel safe. Confident." Slipping the first button free, she shook her head. "No. I don't need any trial." He searched her eyes. "Then what?"

"Maybe for a while, all I want is you."

"Yeah?"

Working the next button free, she nodded. "After all, we've got the rest of our lives together. Now, Mr. Hiruma, I'm ready for my I-love-you kiss." That half smirk pushed hard at Youichi's lips until it spread, encompassing his whole mouth and then his face. "Gladly, Mrs. Hiruma," he answered, emotion making his voice gruff as he took her in his arms and dipped her back. "I love you."

And then he gave her a kiss that was meant to be the first of its kind, but tasted so familiar there was no denying those undercurrents of love had been there all along…. Just waiting to be recognized. This one, though, her husband delivered wholly. Without reservation. Without limit.

It was a promise of forever… and she believed it.


End file.
